



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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Chap._Copyright No._ 

ShelLt— - ; 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






























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THE NEW-YEAR’S BARGAIN. 


















































“There was only one body the r e, — an old, old man with snow-white hair; but 
there was a long row of clay figures in front of him.” 























THE 


New-Year's Bargain. 


SUSAN COOLIDGE. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ADD IE LED YARD. 




/ 




BOSTON: 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 




?Z,i 

' \V 

A 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 

ROBERTS BROTHERS, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 



SECOND COPY, 


. V Ar , 




University Press: John Wilson & Son, 
Vv\ Cambridge. 

Cv .Vf. 




V 



A little golden head close to my knee, 

Sweet eyes of tender, gentianella blue 
Fixed upon mine, a little coaxing voice, — 

Only we two. 

“Tell it again! ” Insatiate demand! 

And like a toiling spider where I sat, 

I wove and spun the many-colored webs 
Of this anc^ that. 

Of Dotty Pringle sweeping out her hall; 

Of Greedy Bear; of Santa Claus the good; 

And how the little children met the Months 
Within the wood. 

“ Tell it again ! ” and though the sand-man came. 
Dropping his drowsy grains in each blue eye, 

“ Tell it again ! oh, just once more! ” was still 
The sleepy cry. 

My spring-time violet! early snatched away 
To fairer gardens all unknown to me, — 

Gardens of whose invisible, guarded gates 
I have no key, —- 



8 


I weave my fancies now for other ears, — 
Thy sister-blossom’s, who beside me sits, 
Rosy, imperative, and quick to mark 
My lagging wits. 

But still the stories bear thy name, are thine. 
Part of the sunshine of thy brief, sweet day, 
Though in her little warm and living hands 
This book I lay. 



CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER FAQ'S 

I. The Bargain with the Months. 5 

II. The Bear Story.19 

III. Little Tot. 82 

IV. “Maria”. 44 

V. May’s Garden. . 62 

VI. The Little Housekeepers.80 

VII. The Last of the Fairies . 98 

VIII. The Story of a Little Stark.114 

IX. The Desert Island.129 

X. Nippie Nutcracker . 157 

XI. “Chusey”... . 178 

XII. How the Cat kept Christmas. .199 

Conclusion. — What was on the Trek . . . 224 


s 















“This afternoon, in spite of the cold, they are out gathering wood.” 


* CHAPTER I. 

THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 

It is a cold, wintry day. The Old Year is going 
to die to-niglit. All the winds have come to his 
funeral, and, while waiting, are sky-larking about 
the country. It is a very improper thing for 
mourners to do. Here they are in the Black 
Forest, going on like a parcel of school-boys ? 

\ 

I \ 





6 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. . 


waltzing with leaves, singing in tree-tops, whoop¬ 
ing, whistling, making all sorts of odd noises. 
If the Old Year hears them, he must think he 
has a very queer sort of "procession.” 

Max and Thekla are used to the winds, and 
not afraid of them. They are not afraid of the 
Forest either, though the country people avoid 
it, and tell wonderful stories about things seen 
and heard there. The hut in which they and 
their Grandfather live is in the heart of the wood. 
Yo other house stands within miles of them. In 
summer-time the wild lilies grow close to the 
door-step, and the fawns creep shyly out to drink 
at the spring near by; and sometimes, when the 
wind blows hard on winter nights, strange bark¬ 
ings can be heard in the distance, and they know 
that the wolves are out. They do not tremble, 
though they are but children. Max is eleven, 
very stout and strong for his age, and able to 
chop and mark the wood for Grandfather, who 
for many years has been ’Woodman. Thekla, who 
is nine, keeps the house in order, cooks, mends 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 


7 


clothes, and knits stockings like a little house- 
fairy. All their lives they have lived here, and 
the lonely place is dear to them. The squirrels 
in the wood are not more free and fearless than 
these children, and they are so busy and healthy 
that the days fly fast. 

This afternoon, in spite of the cold, they are 
out gathering wood, of which the Ranger allows 
them all they need to use. There is a pile at 
home already, almost as high as the cottage roof: 
but Thekla is resolved that her fire shall always 
be bright when Max and the Grandfather come 
in from out-doors, blue and cold; and she isn’t 
satisfied yet. For hours’they have been at work, 
and have tied ever so many fagots. The merry 
winds have been helping in the task, tearing 
boughs and twigs off overhead, and throwing 
them down upon the path, so that the bundles 
have collected rapidly, and wise little Thekla 
says, "This has been a good day.” 

"I’m getting tired, though,” she goes on. 
"Let’s rest awhile, and take a walk. We never 


8 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 


came so far as this before, did we? I want to 
go up that pretty path, and see where it comes 
out. Don’t you think we have got wood enough, 
Max?” 

Yes, Max thought they had. So hand in hand 
the children went along the path. Every thing 
was new and strange. Into this part of the 
forest they had never wandered before. The 
trees were thick. Bushes grew below. Only 
the little foot-track broke the way. Thekla 
crept closer to her brother as the walk grew 
wilder. A great forest is an awful sort of place; 
most of all in winter, when the birds and squir¬ 
rels are hushed and the trees can be heard 
talking to one another. Sweet, curious smells 
come from you know not where. The wind 
roars, and the boughs creak back sharply as if 
the giants and dwarfs were quarrelling. All is 
strange and wonderful. 

And now the bushes grow thinner. They 
were coming upon a little open space fringed 
about with trees, and suddenly Thekla exclaimed, 
in an astonished voice, — 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 


9 


"Why, Max! Look! There are people in 
there. I can see them through the bushes ! ” 

" People ? ” cried Max. " Stealing wood, no 
doubt. Quiet, Thekla! don’t make any noise : 
we ’ll creep up, and catch them at it. They 
shall see what the Ranger says to such do¬ 
ings.” 

So, like mice, they crept forward, and peeped 
through the screen of boughs. But there was 
no sound of chopping, and nobody was meddling 
with the wood. In fact, there was only one body 
visible, — an old, old man with snow-white hair. 
But there was a long row of clay figures in front 
of him, men and women as large as life; and 
they looked so natural, it was no wonder Thekla 
had made the mistake. Some were half-finished; 
some but just begun: one only seemed perfect, 
— the figure of a beautiful youth, with a crescent 
moon on his cap; and, even as they looked, the 
old man took a pinch of something, moulded it 
with his hand, and stuck it on the side of the 
head, from which it hung like a graceful plume. 


10 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 


Then he seemed satisfied, and began to work on 
one of the others. 

"How lovely! but did you ever see any thing 
so queer?” whispered Thekla. "If we only 
dared go nearer!” 

"Dared ! ” cried Max: "this is our wood, and 
we have a right to go where we like in it. Come 
on!” and he took Thekla’s hand, and drew her 
boldly forward. 

There were two great jars standing there, 
which seemed to hold the stuff out of which the 
figures were made. The children peeped in. 
One was full of a marvellous kind of water, 
sparkling and golden and bubbling like wine. 
The other held sand, or what seemed like sand, 
— fine, glittering particles, — most beautiful to 
see. It w # as wonderful to watch the old man 
work. His lean fingers would twist and mould 
the sand and water for a second, and there 
would be a lovely head, an arm, or a gar¬ 
land of flowers. The forms grew like magic; 
and the children were so charmed with watch- 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS 


11 


ing, that they forgot either to speak or to go 
away. 

At last, the old man turned, and saw them. 
He didn’t smile, nor did he seem angry. He 
only stood, and fixed his eyes upon them in si¬ 
lence. Thekla began to tremble, but Max bravely 
addressed him : — 

"What curious work this is'you are doing!” 
he said. " Is it very hard ? ” 

" I’m used to it,” was the brief reply. 

"You have been doing it a long time per* 
haps,” said Thekla, shyly. 

" Seven thousand years or so,” answered the 
old man. 

"Why, what a story!” cried Max. "That’s 
impossible,'you know: the world wasn’t made 
as long ago as that.” 

" Oh, yes ! it was. You were not there at the 
time, and I was. I got there about as soon as 
it did, or a little before.” 

" He’s certainly crazy,” whispered Thekla : 
" let’s run away.” 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 


T2 


" Run away,” replied her brother, “ from that 
old fellow ? Why, he’s ten times as old as 
Grandfather, and I ’ll bet he’s not one quarter so 
strong. There’s something very queer about it 
all, though, and I’m bound to find it out. Would 
you dislike to tell us your name, sir ? ” he asked 
politely. 

"Oh, no!” answered the old man: "I haven’t 
the least objection. Most people, however, don’t 
remember to inquire till they ’re about seeing the 
last of me. They mistake me for my brother, 
Eternity, I suppose. My name is Old Time. 
That’s my scythe hanging on the tree. Don’t 
you see it ? ” 

There it was sure enough, only they had not 
noticed it before. "And what are these beau¬ 
tiful figures?” asked little Thekla. 

"Those are the Months,” replied Time. "I 
come here every year to renew them. They get 
quite worn out, aud need building up. It’s a 
nice dry place, and they can stand till they are 
wanted. This one is January. He’s finished,* 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 


13 


but I ’m a little behind hand with the others.” 
As he spoke, he turned again to his task. 

" And what is this stuff you are making them 
of?” inquired Max, dipping his finger in the 
sparkling liquid. 

The old man fixed upon him a fiery eye. 
" Don’t meddle with that, boy! ” said he, in a se¬ 
vere tone: " nobody can touch those drops safely 
but myself. That is water from the stream of 
Time.” 

"And these?” asked Thekla, pointing to the 
second jar. 

" Those are what you know as ' moments , 5 ” 
was the reply. " They are really the dust of dead 
years, though somebody or other has given them 
the name of 'sands of Time . 5 Pretty things 
they are, bm they won’t keep. Everybody in 
the world can have one at a time, but nobody 
can lay up a stock for next day. I ’m the only 
person to whom that is allowed.” 

Just then a naughty idea entered into Max’s 
head. " We ’ll see whether that is true,” he mut- 


14 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 


tered; and, watching till the old man’s back was 
turned, he plunged his fingers into the jar, stole 
a double handful of the sand, and hid it in the 
tin can which was slung to his side, and in which 
his dinner and Thekla’s had been. Old Time 
was too busy to heed him. Pretty soon after, 
Max took Thekla’s hand, and, without saying 
w Good-by,” dragged her away down the narrow 
path towards home. It was almost nightfall 
when at last they got there. 

It was not till after supper when Grandfather 
had gone to bed that Max confessed what he had 
done. Thekla felt dreadfully about it; but he 
wouldn’t say he was sorry, and was sitting by the 
fire letting the shining particles drift through his 
fingers, when suddenly voices were heard out of 
doors as if a large company was approaching. 
He had just time to hurry the can into a safe 
hiding-place when the latch rattled, the door 
flew open, and in long procession streamed in 
the very figures they had seen that afternoon 
in the wood. 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 


15 


No longer lifeless however, but angry, noisy, 
reproachful. " Ah, little thief! ” cried January. 
" Where are the stolen moments ? ” 

" Yes,” shouted March, a blustering fellow 
with wild hair and eyes. " Where ’s the third 
finger of my left hand? Where are my Brother 
February’s thumb-nail and right ear-tip?” 

"And my roses,” wept June, a fair young wo¬ 
man. " See, I ought to have a whole lap full, 
and there are only five. Oh, naughty, naughty 
boy! ” 

" And my holly sprig?” vociferated December. 
"Who’s to know which I am without it? Not 
a child in the world will hang up his stocking at 
the right time.” 

"Didn’t you know,” sobbed April, "that the 
jar only held just enough to make us complete, 
and no more? And here all of us but January 
are ugly, maimed creatures, and the New Year 
will be so disgusted with us.” 

It was too true. Every one lacked something. 
September had no wheat-ears. May mourned 


16 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS.. 


over her want of violets. November raged up 
and down, declaring that he must have a turkey. 
"And what do you think,” grumbled March, "the 
world is going to say, when we all come in docked 
after this ridiculous fashion? The tides will be 
wrong and the almanac-makers will tear their 
hair. The moon will go wandering about like a 
lunatic. And all because a little boy in the Black 
Forest couldn’t keep his hands out of what didn’t 
belong to him. Oh, he! he! wait till my turn 
comes! w T on’t I blow you about! ” 

And the Months clustered about poor Max, 
scolding, threatening, crying, till he didn’t know 
which way to look. He began to feel dreadfully 
ashamed of himself, especially as Thekla was 
sobbing as loudly as April, and imploring him to 
make amends. But he kept up a bold front. 

" Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, " I think 
you’re very unreasonable. Time belongs to us 
all. I never had so much to myself before, and 
I mean to keep it unless you make it worth my 
while to give it up.” 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 


17 


"What shall we do?” cried July. "Shall we 
all make you a present? or tell you a story? ” 
said November. 

" Or sing you a song? ” chanted May. 

"No music, thank you,” answered Max. "Lit¬ 
tle Thekla here sings to me, and that is sweet 
enough. But if you each will make us a gift, 
and each tell us a story, I will restore the sand 
you are making such a fuss about. What do 
you say? Is it a bargain?” 

"I won’t,” said January. " I’ll have nothing 
to do with it: I am finished, and have no favors 
to ask of anybody.” 

The others, however, all cried, "Yes!” And 
so the bargain was struck. Each Month was 
to come in turn on the last night of the month 
before, tell a story, bring a present, and get his 
missing moments. With this agreement, they 
said good-by. April gave Thekla a kiss, and 
they went away. For a time their voices could 
be heard growing more and more distant in the 
forest, then all was silent again. 


18 


THE BARGAIN WITH THE MONTHS. 


"Isn’t that splendid?” cried Max, exultingly. 

" It ’s very nice about the presents and stories,” 
answered Thekla; "but I can’t help wishing you 
hadn’t taken the moments, Max. It’s dreadful to 
think of your stealing any thing.” 

"Pooh!’’said Max: "it isn’t stealing to take 
time . Everybody does that.” 



“Where are the stolen moments? 


CHAPTER He 


THE BEAR STORY. 

XT seemed a long month to Max and Thekla, but 
at last it was over. The 31st of January came. 
Grandfather was tucked up early in bed, the fire 
was poked, the tin can brought out, and all 
made ready. The children sat in expectation. 
At last there came a rap at the door. 

"Walk in,” cried Max; and February entered. 
He was a short, thick-set fellow, with red eyes, a 
red nose, and a gruff, surly voice. Very unhappy 
he looked just now; and when Max pulled up a 
chair for him, he sat down on the edge, and 
began, — 

" Unaccustomed as I am to public speak- 
ing,” — 

" Hallo! ” cried Max, interrupting him. " That ’ll 


20 


THE BEAR STORY. 


never do in the world. That’s a horrid begin 
ning: you must try again.” 



“ The brothers and sister believed every word of it; but Mamma put her tongue 
in her cheek, and gently pointed over her left shoulder with her paw.” 







THE BEAR STORY. 


21 


"Oh, must I?” said February, much relieved. 
"I thought I had to take pains with my lan¬ 
guage. People who 'address the young ’ usually 
do. Well, if I may go ahead in my own way it ’s 
all right: you’ve taken a weight off my mind.” 

" I’m glad to hear it,” said Max; " but before 
you begin, where’s the gift? ” 

" Here,” said February; and he pulled from his 
pocket something that looked like a big icicle. 
It was an icicle, only it didn’t melt in your lin¬ 
gers or feel cold; and it had a delicious taste, 
like buckwheat cakes, maple molasses, sausages, 
baked apples, turkey, cranberry sauce, and nuts 
and raisins, all at once. Max broke it in two, 
and while Thekla sucked one half and he the 
other, February began : — 

"It’s only about the bears in the North-West 
Hollow.” 

" Bears! ” cried Max: " what bears? ” 

" A real nice family of bears who live up there. 
Last year when I saw them, they were little fel¬ 
lows about the size of kittens; but they are quite 


22 


THE BEAR STORY. 


big now, and have got grown-up growls. I 
thought perhaps you ’d like to hear about 
’em.” 

Oh, wouldn’t they ? Both children crept close 
to him, and drank in every word with red cheeks 
and round eyes. 

” Bears! ” cried Max, quite stuttering with 
excitement. "I didn’t know there were any in 
the Forest. Oh, do go on! ” 

” They used to lie all curled up in a heap,” 
continued February, w at the bottom of a nest in 
the rocks, which their mother had lined with 
leaves and moss to keep them warm. They 
looked just like funny bundles of brown hair. 
There were four of them, — Snap, Snooze, Roll- 
about, and Greedy. Roll-about was the fattest 
and the best-natured, but they were all nice. 
They lay tangled together, and couldn’t help 
pulling each other’s fur a good deal; but they 
quarrelled much less than most brothers and 
sisters who live in such close quarters. 

" I went away before they were old enough to 


THE BEAR STORY. 


23 


go out, so I couldn’t tell you much about them if 

t 

it were not for April. April and I,” said Febru¬ 
ary, with a sentimental air, " were always great 
friends. She used to see the Mamma Bear and 
her little ones go walking together. One day 
when they were in the wood a barking of dogs 
and blowing of horns was heard. 

"'Run! run!’ cried Mamma; and off they 
went, — all but Greedy who had straggled away 
in pursuit of a honey-tree. He was too young to 
know how to take care of himself, and getting 
confused ran into the very track of the hunters. 
They would have killed him, but one shouted, 
' Take him alive! take him alive! I want him; ’ so 
instead they put him into a sack and carried him 
away. 

"Nothing more was heard of him for a long 
time. The others were sorry, but they went 
prowling about all summer stuffing themselves 
with good things, and did very well without 
him. By October they were as fat as pigs. 
And all of a sudden one day, as they were lunch- 


24 


THE BEAR STORY. 


mg on ground-nuts in a lonely place among the 
hills, as happy and friendly as could be, they 
heard a scratching of claws, and smelt a fur 
which seemed uncommonly familiar; and lo and 
behold! it was Greedy, back again, as big as any 
of them, but not nearly so fat. 

Of course they growled with astonishment, and 
flew to meet him. He was glad too, but his 
manner seemed a little cold. Where had he 
been? Oh! he had been in a town of Germany 
getting his education. And where had he 
been living? Oh! in the family of his tutor of 
course. Slept in the same room with the chil¬ 
dren, and treated like a child. None of them 
knew what a tutor might be; and Roll-about 
asked innocently if it was something good to 
eat, but Greedy shook his head. The town was 
a college town, he said. All persons of refine¬ 
ment were sent there to study. 

'"Are you a person of refinement, Greedy? 5 
asked little Snooze. 

" Greedy froze him with a look. He didn’t am 


THE BEAR STORY. 


25 


swer, but went on with his tale. He had learned 
to dance. He could pick out the Ace of Hearts, 
and A, B, and Z from the alphabet. He could 
jump over a stick. This last he did on the spot, 
to show them how it went; and, in the middle 
of the jump, Snap noticed something which made 
him cry out, ' O Greedy! your poor paws ! 
What is the matter with them ? They ’re all 
brown, and dried up?’ 

" Greedy looked foolish. ' Oh! ’ he replied, 
' that’s nothing: they — they — got a little burnt 
one day, — that ’s all, — on some hot iron. 
Stoves are very hot in Germany.’ 

“ Mamma looked queer when she heard this, 
and relieved her feelings by a low growl. The 
little ones could not tell what to make of it. 

"When asked how he managed to get back, 
Greedy explained it in this way: 'He was trav¬ 
elling,’ he said, ' with some friends. They were 
in a cage together, which was the fashionable 
way of going about just now. By an accident, 
the cage upset and some of the bars broke; and, 


26 


THE BEAR STORY. 


as it was so near home, Greedy thought he might 
as well run over, and make them a visit.’ All 
this he said with a lofty air, and the brothers and 
sister believed every word of it; but Mamma 
put her tongue in her cheek, and gently pointed 
over her left shoulder with her paw. 

" They had a grand walk home; but no sooner 
had they got there, than Greedy began to find 
fault with every thing in the most unpleasant 
manner. The Hollow was the dampest hole he 
ever had seen. No place was fit to live in with¬ 
out a stove. As for the food, it w r as horrid. It 
gave him the stomach-ache, he declared; and he 
called for beef-steaks, as if he expected a butcher 
to appear round the corner. When the honey¬ 
comb was brought in, he fell upon it tooth and 
nail, and ate a great deal more* than his share. 
Mamma reproved him; but he snubbed her, and 
said that was the way all the children did in the 
city; and when poor little Koll-about, who had 
to go without any, gave a low whine or two just 
to comfort herself, he boxed her ears with his 


THE BEAR STORY. 


27 


paw savagely, and then excused himself by tell¬ 
ing them that Master Jack, his tutor’s son, often 
cuffed his sister, Miss Gretchen, in that way, and 
nobody took any notice. It wasn’t any particu¬ 
lar consolation to Koll-about to hear of it, and 
she crept away into a lonely corner, and moaned 
and licked her paws for a long time. 

w Master Jack and Miss Gretchen,” — how the 
Bear family did learn to hate those children! 
Every rude and disagreeable thing Greedy did, 
he quoted them as examples. Jack, it seemed, 
said, 'I won’t,’ and fought for his dinner; and 
Gretchen scratched and bit right and left; and 
they quarrelled with each other. Their evil 
example had ruined all that was good in poor 
Greedy. He said the most unpleasant things. 
He found fault with every thing. He pitched 
into the others on all occasions, and boxed Roll- 
about’s ears till the hair grew quite thin. Then 
he advised her to use ' bears’ grease.’ ' All the 
city young ladies did so,’ he said; but what good 
was that, when the poor little thing could get 


28 


THE BEAR STORY. 


none but her own, — or his, which, as you 
may suppose, he wasn’t very likely to offer 
her ! 

"'Oh,’ Mrs. Bear used to say to herself, 'if I 
only had Master Jack and Miss Gretchen here, 
wouldn’t I give them a lesson ? ’ And as Greedy, 
for all his fault-finding, had such a big appetite, 
that provisions were growing scarce, two or 
three bad children, needing to be eaten by way 
of example, would have been convenient. Every 
thing went wrong in the once happy home. The 
brothers and sisters were always sulking in cor¬ 
ners, and complaining to each other in low growls 
of the way in which Greedy had treated them. 
Roll-about lost her plump sides, and grew thin. 
Snap was finding out the advantages of bad 
temper, and beginning to carry on like Greedy. 
At last Mrs. Bear declared she would stand it 
no longer. 

"' You are grown up,’ she said : ' go out and 
shift for yourself. As long as you were good 
and content, I was glad to have you here: now 


THE BEAR STORY. 


29 


you only make my life miserable, and I can’t 
endure it.’ And she raised her large paw, and 
showed her teeth, for the first time in her life • 
and Greedy, with a snarl of fright, slunk away 
from the den. 

" Out of her sight, however, his temper revived. 
He got into a great huff. 'Leave the den?’ 
Of course he would, and very glad to see the last 
of it. So he went and chose a hole for himself 
to live in. It was quite close to the village, — 
a great deal too close for safety. But the silly 
creature had lost all his instinct by living with 
human beings. And whenever the bells rang or 
any thing seemed to be going on, he would rush 
out to peep, and find what it was. I only won¬ 
der they didn’t catch him long ago.” 

" Did they catch him, then ? ” asked Max. 

" You shall hear. Only yesterday it was that 
a caravan with a band of music came into the 
village. Greedy heard the sounds, and it seemed 
as if he would go wild. He dodged among the 
bushes, and looked on as long as he could stand 


BO 


THE BEAR STORY. 


it, and then, seized with a desire to distinguish 
himself, out he came. The circus people couldn’t 
believe their eyes when they saw him prancing 
after them, his head on one side, and taking 
steps like a dancing-master. Of course such a 
prize was not to be resisted. They lost no time; 
and, when I caught sight of them, poor Greedy 
had already a muzzle -on his jaws and a rope 
round his neck. A boy was banging his sides 
with a stick, his tail was between his legs, 
and I must say,” ended February, laughing 
heartily, " he didn’t look particularly happy 
at being taken back into fashionable life after 
this manner.” 

" That’s first-rate,” cried Max, in fits of amuse¬ 
ment. 

w I’m so glad you liked it,” replied February, 
much pleased. " Now I ’ll trouble you for my 
thumb-nail and left ear-tip.” 

The can was brought, and Max carefully meas¬ 
ured out what was wanted. February kissed 
Thekla’s hand (the tip of his nose felt very 


THE BEAR STORY. 


31 


cold), made a clumsy bow to both, and went 
away. 

The children hugged each other. "If they ’re 
all like that,” cried they, "how jolly it will 
be ! ” 



Greedy. 




“Than the Tot said, ‘Budda hundry.’” 


CHAPTER III. 

LITTLE TOT. 

FEBRUARY went by like a flash, or the chil¬ 
dren thought so. It was really a short month: 
but, besides, they were very busy; and work, you 
know, makes time fly. Thekla, who had just 





LITTLE TOT. 


33 


learned to spin, had a job on hand of which she 
was proud. It was no less than spinning and 
carding the wool for a bran-new suit of clothes 
which Max was to wear next year. Dyed brown, 
and woven by Mother Gretel the cunning weaver, 
they were to be something grand. As for Max, 
his work was wood-carving. Nearly all the 
German boys can carve; and he and Thekla 
thought the spoon over which he was so busy, 
and which had grape leaves and tendrils on 
the handle, most beautiful. It would go to the 
great Spring Fair, and fetch a large price, 
perhaps as much as a silver dollar. Alto¬ 
gether, they could hardly believe the calendar 
when it showed them a month had gone by, 
and that evening they must look for another 
visitor. 

It was a dark night, and very cold. As they 
sat by the fire waiting, they could hear the frost 
cracking and snapping the tree-boughs. Now 
and then a crash like thunder came. It was a 
limb, overloaded with ice. breaking off, and fall- 


34 


LITTLE TOT. 


ing to the ground. And by and by, among the 
other noises, a strange, wild voice began to min¬ 
gle, making them all more fearful. It was 
March, who, as he came through the forest, was 
talking to himself. 

" Blow, blow! ” he was saying. "I ? m coming 
on to blow. Kock, rock! There’d better be no 
babies in my tree-tops. To and fro, to and fro, 
roots and trunks alike, and the very stones must 
laugh and roll if I choose to tickle them.” And 
then he gave a loud thump at the door, and, with¬ 
out waiting answer, banged it open and marched 
in. He looked so big and fierce and stormy that 
Thckla shrank back, without daring to push 
forward a stool for him to sit upon; and even 
Max, who had pluck enough for ten boys, felt 
afraid. 

w Won’t you sit down, sir?” he said at last very 
meekly, and went to shut the door, which March 
had left open. Quite a little heap of dead leaves 
and snow had collected on the sill; and Thekla, 
who was a born housewife, ran to brush them 


LITTLE TOT. 


35 


up. March twirled round on his stool, and 
watched her proceedings with great scorn. 

" Sweep!” he said in a voice like a big wind. 
"You call that sweeping? You should see me 
when I get at it. I scoop up all the leaves in 
the world at once, and send them spinning. 
Whole snow-storms go into my dust-pan. Ho! 
ho!” 

"But I am so little,” replied Thekla, in her 
bird’s voice; " and, beside, I have brushed up all 
there are.” 

"All there are ? Nonsense,” cried March; 
"but no matter. Am I, or am I not to tell a 
story? If not, let me know at once; for I have 
an engagement with a couple of hurricanes, and 
want to be off. A pretty business,” he went on, 
glaring fiercely, " to sit here by this melting fire 
to amuse a couple of thieving brats, w T hen I have 
so much to do. Ho! ho! ” 

" Oh ! ” whispered Thekla to Max, "let’s give 
him his moments, and let him go: he makes me 
afraid.” 


36 


LITTLE TOT. 


"Not I,” said Max, who was plucking up cour¬ 
age, " not if I know it! — Of course you are to 
tell a story,” he continued aloud: " you promised, 
and you ought to be a Month of your word. 
Thekla, put away that broom. Now we ’re all 
ready, sir.” 

March scowled, but made no resistance. As 
Max had said, he was a Month of his word; and 
he began in a queer voice, winch was now loud 
and then soft, now dying away to a murmur and 
then bellowing out again in a way that made you 
jump. 

" Once upon a time, as I was driving across a 
prairie, I saw a house.” 

" I don’t know what a prairie is,” said Thekla, 
gently. 

" I don’t suppose you do,” growled March : 
" that’s one of the things you don’t know, and 
there are a good many more of ’em. A prai¬ 
rie ’s a big field without any fences, and several 
thousand miles square. People live there,— 
some people do: I spend a good deal of time 


LITTLE TOT. 


37 


there myself. First-rate place for a promenade, 
— no corners to turn, plenty of room. As I said, 
I saw a house. 

" There was a snow-storm along with me. We 
had nine hundred billion horses, all white as 
wool; and we went fast. Killing pace. Horses 
kept dropping down dead, lay in heaps wherever 
we went; and we left ’em there. About four 
million dashed up against the house I was tell¬ 
ing you about. They ’most covered it up, for it 
wasn’t a big house. There were two little win¬ 
dows and a door. Windows had curtains; but 
one was slipped aside, and the fire looked out 
like a red eye. I didn’t like that; so I put my 
eye to the other side, to see if I .couldn’t look 
him down. 

"Funniest thing I ever saw! ” said March, giv¬ 
ing a hoarse chuckle. " Such tots! Biggest only 
four years old; t’other not a year. There was 
a pussy too. They three — true, on my word — 
were the only creatures in the house that night.” 

"Where could their father and mother be?” 
asked Max, excessively interested. 


38 


LITTLE TOT- 


"Oh! went off that morning to the town,— 
like fools,— and couldn’t get back. We saw 
to that. Stuck in ten drifts, most frozen to death. 
Wife half-crazy about the babies; husband just 
managed to get to shelter. Ho! ho! ” cried 
March. "Served ’em right, I say. IIo! ho! 

" Don’t you think, that Tot, the biggest one, 
was putting a stick of wood on the fire when I 
looked in? Stick as big as she was, almost! 
How she did it was a mystery. Little apron 
blew into the flame, but I flew up the chimney 
and blew it the other way. ’Tisn’t often I do a 
good turn, but I couldn’t help it then.” 

" That was right,” said Thekla. 

"Hold your tongue!” cried March, rudely. 
"What do you know about it? Two sticks 
that little thing got on. I never did! How she 
managed it, and such a baby! 

"Then she put a shawl over the other tot. 
Patted the corners down just like an old woman, 
and put one on herself. Hind side before, but no 
matter for that. Then she got into bed, and sang, 


LITTLE TOT. 


39 


' Hush by, Budda, — bus 5 by, Budda,’ till the baby 
went to sleep. Then she went to sleep too. I 
thought I ’d like to see what would happen when 
they woke up, so I sent the snow-storm on and 
stayed behind with my eye to the chink. 

" I’m not a tender-hearted person myself,” said 
March, modestly, " but really I couldn’t bear to 
disturb those children. Several times I wanted 
to roar dreadfully, — roaring is one of my great¬ 
est pleasures, — but I didn’t. I never quite 
knew why, but so it was. The snow isn’t noisy, 
so it was as still all night about the little house 
as if it had been mid-summer. 

" I watched, and the children slept. By and 
by when morning came, the baby woke up and 
began to cry. The Tot patted him and said, 
' Hush-a-by, Budda,’ a great many times; but he 
wouldn’t stop. Babies don’t stop,” added March, 
reflectively, " as a general thing. Then the Tot 
said, 'Budda hundry;’ and she got up, and 
tugged and tugged to put a stick on the fire, 
and fetched a tin cup and spoon, and set them 


40 


LITTLE TOT. 


on a chair by the table where there was a milk- 
pan. She had to tip it with her little hands, and 
a great deal spilled on the floor and a great deal 
on her apron, but some went in the cup. She 
began to cry at first; then she said, 'Mamie 
didn’t mean to,’ and brightened up again. And 
she warmed the milk and fed that baby like a 
woman,” cried March, giving his knee a great 
slap. " I never did ! Baby ate it all, and went 
to sleep again. Tot drank some too, but not 
much. Wanted to save it for the baby, I guess. 

"It was a very cold day. I kept in a long 
time; but at last I had to howl or I should have 
burst. Tot got frightened. She said her little 
prayers, and hid her head under the pillow; but 
when the other cried, she stopped, and gave him 
some milk, and sang, ' Hush by, Budda,’ till he 
went off again. I tell you what,” said March, 
"I did feel sorry for that child. 

" There was only one stick of wood left, and 
that was a big one. Tot couldn’t move it. Pussy 
got on the table, and lapped up all the milk in 


LITTLE TOT. 


41 


the pan. Then Tot cried hard, and said, ' Mam¬ 
ma, come! oh do come ! ’ over and over. She 
put all the clothes there were on the bed. When 
the baby cried, she patted him with her little 
hand, and cried too. When morning came, they 
were both still. I could see them through the 
window. Away off on the prairie I heard the 
slow jingle of a bell. 

Hurry! hurry!’ I roared, 'or you’ll be too 
late.’ Then I scooped up the snow, and blew 
open a path. The sleigh got nearer. The 
woman couldn’t wait. She held out her arms 
to the cottage. At last she jumped into the 
snow (it was up to her waist), and floundered 
to the door. She beat upon it, threw it open, 
and cried out, ' Mary! baby! O my baby! ’ 

w They lay in the bed; but no little voices an¬ 
swered. The mother gave a loud scream. c Oh, 
they are dead! ’ she shrieked, and flung herself 
over them. 

w The men ran in. There were four of them. 
They built a fire and warmed blankets, and put 
hot milk into the mouths of the little ones. 


42 


LITTLE TOT. 


"'This little fellow isn’t dead,’ said one of 
them. He wasn’t. Pretty soon he opened his 
eyes, and when he saw his mother he began to 
cry. Tot had wrapped him up so warm that the 
cold didn’t kill him, — only made him dull. 

" It took longer to bring her round, but at last 
they did. And the first thing she said was, 
'Mamie didn’t mean to spill the milk.’ 

"I declare,” said March with a frog in his 
throat, " I never did see the beat of that child.” 

"And is that the end?” asked Thekla, who 
had been quietly crying for some time past over 
little Tot’s troubles. 

" Of course it’s the end,” replied March. 
"What did you expect? And a very nice story 
it is, though I say it as shouldn’t. 

" And now I’m off,” shouted he, and made a 
rush for the door. 

" One minute! ” cried Max : " you ’ve for¬ 
gotten something. Here’s your moments, you 
know. And then there is the present you were 
to give us: don’t leave that out.” 


LITTLE TOT. 


43 


" I’m glad you reminded me,” said March, — 
"very glad indeed.” His wild eyes sparkled 
with a fierce light which was ugly to see. With 
one hand he seized his "moments,” the other 
was fumbling in his pocket. 

" Here it is! ” he cried, and flung something in 
their faces. Another instant he had banged the 
door and was gone. They could hear him roar¬ 
ing and whooping as he went. 

The poor children — all red in the face, sneez¬ 
ing, coughing — looked at each other. 

"Ow! ow!” cried Max. 

" Thzs! thzs! ” responded Thekla. 

March’s present was a bad cold in the head ! 



Littlk Tot and the Baby asleep. 


CHAPTER IV. 


" MARIA.” 

SUCH colds ! Never was any thing like them' 
Day after day Max sat by the fire with a splitting 
headache, cold chills running down his back; 
while night after night Thekla awoke, coughing 
and choking from a spot in her throat which 
burned like a live coal. I can tell you, w r hei? 
March gives a present he does it in real ear¬ 
nest. 

They were so miserable you might have 
thought that even March must pity them a little. 
But he didn’t, — not a bit. As he told the chil¬ 
dren, he was any thing but a " tender-hearted 
person.” When they were at the very worst,' 
they could hear him astride the roof, roaring and 


MARIA.’ 


45 


whooping down the chimney in the most unfeel¬ 
ing way; and he regularly banged the door open 



in a closet.” 






















46 


MARIA.’ 


on cold nights to let the wind in; so that, at 
last, Max never thought of sitting down to sup¬ 
per without first putting a heavy chair against 
it to keep it shut. So blustering and ill-tempered 
a Month was never known. But at last his turn 
came to go; and, by that time, what with pa¬ 
tience and catnip tea the children had begun to 
get better. 

There is a great difference, however, between 
being better and being well. Thekla’s hands 
were still too weak and thin to twirl the spindle, 
and for many a day the wood-carving had lain 
untouched in the cupboard. It seemed as if 
they were too languid to enjoy any thing; and, 
when the evening came for April’s visit, Max 
would hardly take the trouble to rise and fetch 
the can, though Thekla reminded him. After it 
was brought out, however, and the fire poked 
into a blaze, they felt a little brighter. Poor 
things, it was a long time since any thing pleas¬ 
ant had happened to them! 

The night was still. The noisy winds had 


‘MARIA.’ 


47 


fallen asleep, so that you could hear the least 
sounds far away in the forest. By and by light 
footsteps became audible, drawing nearer; and 
Max had time to run for a chair and place it in 
the cosiest corner, before a soft tap fell upon the 
door. 

” May I come in ? ” said a voice, very gently 
and politely. How different from rude March! 

This was April. She looked very young and 
small; and, as Thekla went forward to greet her, 
she felt as if it were some little visitor of her 
own age come to tea. It was with a sense of 
protection and hospitality that she took from her 
hand a great bundle, which seemed heavy. April 
sat down, and then she put her arm round 
Thekla’s waist and pulled her nearer, bundle 
and all. She had an odd, pretty face when you 
came to look at it. The lips laughed of them- 
selves; but the eyes, which were blue and misty, 
seemed to have tears behind them all ready to 
fall. Or if, as sometimes happened, the lips took 
a fancy to pout, then the eyes had their turn, and 


48 


MARIA.” 


brightened and twinkled so that you could not 
help smiling. It would have puzzled anybody 
whether to call the countenance most sad or most 
merry. April’s hair was all wavy and blowsy, 
as if she had been out in a gale of wind. Two 
or three violets were stuck in it; and the voice 
with which she spoke sounded like the tinkle of 
rain-drops on the leaves. 

" Look,” she said, ” what I have brought you! ” 
and she unfastened the bundle, which was pinned 
together with a long red thorn. 

O mercy! It seemed as if the sun, which went 
to bed three hours ago, had got up again, and 
was pouring over April’s lap on to the kitchen 
floor. For there lay a great heap of dandelions, 
golden and splendid, which perked up their 
heads, and laughed and winked on all around. 
The whole room seemed to brighten from their 
glorious color. And, what was funny, these 
dandelions had voices, as it seemed; for out of 
the middle of the heap came queer sounds of 
peeping and chirping, which the children could 
not at all understand. 


“MARIA.” 


49 


April laughed. She parted the flowers, and 
there were two little new-born chicks, as yellow 
as the yolk of an egg. They were soft and 
downy; and their cunning black eyes and little 
beaks gave them a knowing look, which was as¬ 
tonishing, when you recollected how short a time 
they had been in the world. " Cheep! cheep! ” 
they cried, and one ran directly into Thekla’s 
outstretched hands. The warm fingers felt to it 
like a nest; and the little creature cuddled down 
contentedly, with a soft note which expressed 
comfort. The other, April handed to Max. 

" They are for you,” she said. ” If you like 
them and take care of them, you may have a 
whole poultry-yard some day. My broods are 
not always lucky; but these will be.” 

"Like them,” indeed! You should have seen 
the happy fuss which went on over the new pets. 
Max ran for a basket; Thekla brought flannel to 
line it, and meal and water; and the chicks were 
kissed, fed, and tucked away as if they had been 
babies. By and by they fell fast asleep under 


4 


50 


MARIA.” 


their warm coverlet; and then the children went 
back to the fire, and, while Max made ringlets 
of the dandelion - stalks and stuck them in 
Thekla’s hair, April began : — 

" My story isn’t much,” she said. " I’ve told 
so many in the course of my life that I’m quite 
exhausted, for I make it a rule never to tell the 
same twice. Some are so sad that it makes 
me cry merely to think of them,” — and as she 
said this April’s tears suddenly rained down her 
face, —" and others so jolly that I should split 
my sides if I tried.” Here April giggled like a 
school-girl, and her eyes seemed to send out rays 
of sun which danced on the wet tear-stains. "So 
it must always be new,” she went on; " and, ever 
since I saw you, I’ve been trying to decide what 
it should be. There was a delightful one about 
ducklings which I thought of, — but no!” and 
she solemnly shook her head. 

"Oh, why not? Do, pray do!” cried Max. 

"Couldn’t,” said April. "That story — the 
first half of it at least — I told to a little girl in 


“MARIA.” 


51 


England last year. I didn’t finish because some¬ 
thing came along and set me crying, but half is 
just as bad as the whole. I couldn’t tell that 
again. Don’t look so disappointed, though ! 
I’ve got one for you; and, though it isn’t one 
of my best, I dare say you ’ll like it well enough. 
It’s about a doll.” 

" A doll! Pshaw! ” said Max, impolitely. 

"Why, what a rude boy you are! ” cried April, 
beginning to sob. " I declare, I ne — never was 
t — treated so before.” 

"Max!” exclaimed Thekla, "how could you? 
You’ve hurt her feelings. Don’t cry any more, 
dear,” she went on, — for somehow Thekla felt 
older and bigger than this fascinating little 
maiden who laughed and cried by turns, — " he 
didn’t mean to. He is a real kind boy, only 
sometimes he speaks before he thinks. And I 
like dolls — oh, so much! ” 

"Do you?” said April, brightening. "Then 
it’s all right. As for you,” she added, turning 
sharply round on Max, "you can go out and sit 
on the steps, if you don’t want to hear it.” 


52 


MARIA.” 


Oh! ” stammered Max, dreadfully ashamed of 
himself, " I do. I ’d just as lief hear it as not. 
And I beg your pardon, if I spoke rudely.” 

"Very well then,” said April, pacified. "II 
you feel that way, I ’ll proceed. This doll lived 
in a closet. I should never have come across 
her probably if it hadn’t been for the house¬ 
cleaning. 

"You must know that there are countries 
in the world where every spring and fall the 
houses are all turned upside down and inside 
out, and then downside up and outside in, all for 
the sake of being clean. The women do it. 
What becomes of the men I don’t know: they 
climb trees or something to be out of the way, 
I suppose. I like these times, of all things. I 
like to swing the heavy carpets to and fro on the 
lines, and flap the maids’ aprons into their faces 
as they stand on the ledge outside to wash the 
windows. It is great fun. And I love to creep 
into holes and corners, and rummage and poke 
about to see what folks have got. And one 


“ MARIA.” 


58 


day, when doing this in an old garret, I found 
the doll, who, as I said, was living in a closet. 
They had put her there to be out of the way 
of the cleaning. 

” Her name was Maria. She was big, but not 
very beautiful. Her head was dented, and there 
were marks of finger-nails on her cheeks, which 
were faded and of a purplish-pink. But her 
arms and legs were bran new, and white as snow, 
and her body was round and full of sawdust. I 
couldn’t understand this at all until she explained 
it. Her head, it seemed, was twenty-five years 
old; and her body had only been in the world six 
weeks! 

” Once, she said, she had possessed a body just 
the same age as her head, and then she belonged 
to a person she called ' Baby May.’ Baby May 
used to bump her on the floor, and dig the soft 
wax out of her cheeks with her nails. This 
treatment soon ruined her good looks; and when 
she mentioned this, Maria almost cried,—but not 
quite, because, as she said, years had taught her 


54 


MARIA.” 


self-command. I don’t know what she meant,” 
added April, reflectively. w I ’m sure years never 
taught me any thing of the sort. However, that 
is neither here nor there! If she hadn’t had a 
fine constitution, Maria never could have endured 
all this cruelty. Her body didn’t. It soon sank 
under its sufferings; and, after spitting saw¬ 
dust for some months, wasted away so much 
that May’s mother said it must go into the rag¬ 
bag. People make a great fuss about having 
their heads cut off, but Maria said it was quite 
easy if the scissors were sharp. Snip, snip, rip, 
rip, and there you are. The head was put care¬ 
fully away in a wardrobe because it was so hand¬ 
some, and May’s mamma promised to buy a new 
body for it; but somehow she forgot, and by and 
by May grew so big that she didn’t care to play 
with dolls any more. So Maria’s head went on 
living in the wardrobe. Having no longer any 
cares of the body to disturb it, it gave itself up 
to the cultivation of the intellect. A wardrobe is 
a capital place for study, it appears. People keep 


MARIA.” 


55 


dleir best things there, and rarely come to dis¬ 
turb them. At night, when the house is asleep, 
they wake up and talk together, and tell secrets. 
The silk gowns converse about the fine parties 
they have gone to, and the sights they have 
seen. There were several silk gowns in the 
wardrobe. One of them had a large spot of ice¬ 
cream on its front breadth. She used to let the 
other things smell it, that they might know what 
luxury was like; and once Maria got a chance, 
and licked it with her tongue, but she said it didn’t 
taste as she expected. There was an India shawl, 
too, which would lift the lid of its box, and relate 
stories — oh, so interesting! — about black faces 
and white turbans and hot sunshine. The laces 
in the drawer came from Belgium. That was 
a place to learn geography! And the Roman 
pearls had a history too. They were devout 
Catholics, and would tell their beads all night 
if nobody seemed to be listening. But the Coral 
in the drawer below was Red Republican in its 
opinions, and made no attempt to hide it. Both 


56 


MARIA.’ 


hailed from Italy, but they were always quarrel* 
ling! Oh, Maria knew a deal! As she grew 
wise, she ceased to care for tea-parties, and being 
taken out to walk as formerly. All she wanted 
was to gain information, and strengthen her mind. 
At least so'she said; but for all that,” remarked 
April, with a sly smile, w she had some lingering 
regard for looks still, for she complained bitterly 
of the change in her complexion. Perhaps it 
was putting so much inside her head made the 
outside so dull and shabby! 

w Well, for twenty-three long years Maria lived 
in the wardrobe at the head of polite society. 
She was treated with great respect.- The dresses 
always bowed to her when they went in and out. 
When their time came for being ripped up and 
pieced into bedquilts, they said farewell with 
many tears. All this gratified her feelings, of 
course. So you can imagine what a shock it 
was when, one day, the wardrobe door was sud¬ 
denly opened, and she was lifted down and laid 
in a pair of little clutching hands, which grasped 


‘MARIA. 


57 


her eagerly. A small thumb-nail pierced her left 
cheek. 'I could have screamed/ said Maria; 
'but where would have been the use? Dolls 
have positively no rights.’ ” 

"Who was it took her down?” asked Max, 
quite forgetful of his original scorn about Maria’s 
history. 

" It was Baby May. Not the same May, but 
another as like her as two peas. In fact, the 
first May was grown up; and this was her little 
girl. Grandmamma had bought a beautiful new 
body, and now Maria’s head had to be sewed on 
to it. Her feelings when the stitches were put 
in, she said, she could never describe. They 
were like those of a poor old soldier, who, after 
living fifty years on his pension, finds himself 
dragged from pipe and chimney-corner, and 
obliged to begin again as a drummer-boy.” 

"It was really cruel, I think,” said Thekla, 
indignantly. 

" Yes,” said April; " but you haven’t heard the 
worst. Think of being suddenly united to such 


58 


“MARIA. 1 


a young body! There was Maria, elderly and 
dignified, full of wisdom and experience, longing 
for nothing so much as to be left alone to think 
over the facts she had learned. And there were 
her arms and legs always wanting to be in motion. 
New, impulsive, full of sawdust, it was misery to 
them to be still. They wanted to dance and frisk 
all the time, to wear fine clothes, to have other 
dolls come on visits, to drink tea out of the baby- 
house tea-set, and have a good time generally. 
When Maria assured them t,.at she was tired of 
these things, and had seen the vanity of them, 
they said they wanted to see the vanity too ! 
And if ever she got a quiet chance, and had fallen 
into a reverie about old times and friends, — the 
silk stockings in the wardrobe, for instance, and 
the touching story they had told her; or the shoe- 
buckles, who were exiles from their country, — all 
of a sudden her obstreperous limbs would assert 
themselves, out would flourish her legs, up fly 
her hands and hit her in the eye, and the first 
thing she knew she would be tumbled out on to 


“MARIA” 


59 


the floor. Just think what a trial to a lady of 
fine education and manners! It was enough to 
vex a saint. She assured me she had lost at least 
three scruples of wax. But nobody cared in the 
least about her scruples.” 

" And what became of the poor thing in the 
end?” asked Thekla. 

" That I can’t say,” replied April: "I had to 
come away, you know; and I left her there. One 
of two things, she told me, was pretty sure to 
happen: either her arms and legs would sober 
with time, or she would get so hideous from un¬ 
happiness that May’s mamma would buy a new 
head to match them. * Then, ah then ! ’ said she, 
' I may perhaps be allowed to go back to my 
beloved top-shelf in the wardrobe. Never, never 
will I quit it again so long as I live! ’ She ended 
^with a sigh. I bade her farewell, but on the way 
downstairs I met a little girl coming up and call¬ 
ing out, ' Where dolly? me want dolly! ’ And I 
fear poor Maria was not left any longer in peace 
in the attic closet.” 


60 


“MARIA." 


April closed her story. She took her moments 
from the can, poured the dandelions into Thekla’s 
lap, and rose to go. 

" I am late,” she said: " all my violets must be 
made before midnight. I have none but these 
few in my hair.” 

" Not yet, — stay a little longer! ” pleaded the 
children. 

"Ah, no!” said April: "I must go. You 
won’t miss me long: May is coming, my sister 
May. Everybody loves her better than they do 
me,” and she wiped her eyes dolefully as she shut 
the door. 

"What a goose I am!” she cried, flinging 
it open again, with a merry laugh. " Don’t 
mind my nonsense. Good-by, dears, — good- 
by ! ” 

Oh, how cheerful the kitchen seemed nowl 
Where were the colds and the disconsolate 
looks? All gone; and Max and Thekla laughed 
gayly into each other’s faces. 


MARIA.” 


61 


” I ’ll tell you what,” said Max, w if April didn’t 
cry so easily, she’d be one of the jolliest girls 
in the world.” 



“ Good-by, dears I 










“ Round his head she put a wreath of long sprays. It was great fun.’ 


CHAPTER Y. 

may’s garden. 

The chicks throve. Day by day their legs 
grew strong, their yellow bodies round and 
full, and their calls for food more clamorous. 







MAY’S GARDEN. 


63 


As the snow melted, and the sun made warm 
spots on the earth, they began to run from the 
cottage-door, and poke and scratch about with 
their bills. But they always came back to the 
basket to sleep; and Thekla prepared their food, 
and watched over them as well as any old hen 
could have done. 

She found time for this in the midst of other 
work. There was much to do, after a whole 
month’s neglect : the house needed cleaning and 
setting to rights, and the yarn for the new suit 
must be finished at once. The busy wheel 
hummed and whirred more noisily than ever, in 
the afternoons, now growing long and bright; 
and Max, his cold quite cured, sat by, with his 
carving-tools, as busy as she. Altogether, the 
time flew rapidly; and the cheerfulness left by 
April’s visit still lay upon the cottage when the 
evening came for May to appear. 

There was no languor or dulness this time. 
The hearth was cleanly swept, and the door left 
ajar that the guest might see the light as she 


64 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


walked through the Forest. But so quiet was 
her coming, that her hand was on the latch 
before they knew it, and both of them jumped 
at the sound of her knock. As she came in, 
they saw that a lamb was trotting beside her, 
held by a band of young spring grasses, curi¬ 
ously woven together. 

" This is my present,” she said. 

Judge if the children danced for joy. A 
Jamb! a real lamb! all for their own! Never 
was any thing like it. They patted the pretty 
creature, and lavished caresses upon him, till 
finally the chicks woke up at the stir, peeped, 
called, and at last flew out of their baskets 
to see what was going on; and one of them 
fluttered up on to the lamb’s back, where he 
sat like a yellow buttercup on a bank of 
snow. May gazed upon the scene with a calm 
smile. 

"Now,” she said at last, "if you’re quite 
done, I ’ll venture to remind you that my time’s 
important. Business first, and pleasure after. 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


65 


Suppose you put off kissing that creature again 
until I am gone.” 

Thus admonished, the children reluctantly 
left the lamb, tied by his grassy chain to the 
dresser, and came back to the fire. So far they 
had been almost too busy to look at May; but 
now they did. At first Thekla thought her the 
sweetest thing she had ever seen. Her hair 
curled like the tendrils of a wild grape; no shell 
was ever lined with lovelier pink than the bloom 
of her cheek. But, as she gazed, Thekla became 
aware of an expression which contradicted the 
tender lines of the face, — a certain teasing look, 
a frostiness about the blue eyes, which baffled 
and surprised her. The same quality appeared 
in her words, and even in the soft voice which 
uttered them. Fair and winsome as she was, 
Thekla did not venture close, as she had done 
to April, but clung tightly to Max’s hand while 
she listened. 

"I reminded you,” proceeded May, w because I 
have really too much to do to allow of my wast- 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


ing time. Very few Months have the work put 
upon them that I have. June pretends to be 
busy; but, after all, most of it is finishing off 
what I began. And as for April, she is a sad, 
idle girl, and does almost nothing. Why, I came 
upon her just now,” said May, in an aggrieved 
voice; "and there she was having a game of 
play with that good-for-nothing Jack Frost, 
tickling him with her warm fingers and scream¬ 
ing with laughter; and of course I shall be ex¬ 
pected to make up for all she leaves incomplete. 
There’s the great wash of the year, for instance. 
It fairly belongs to her; but she never will do it. 
And I Ve all the plants to wake too, which is a 
hard job, for they are the sleepiest little things 
imaginable; and the gardens to tidy, and all. 
So you won’t wonder that I can’t spare many 
minutes for telling stories. 

" Did you ever have a garden? ” she went on. 

" Oh, yes! ” replied Thekla. " Max makes me 
one every summer.” 

“ It’s very pleasant,” said May; " but when 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


67 


your flower-beds are as big as all outdoors, as 
mine are, there ’s a great deal of care and respon¬ 
sibility in them, I assure you. I like it, however. 
I enjoy sowing millions of seeds, and setting 
little roots to straggle, and pruning and clipping. 
Every flower that ever grew is in my list, and I 
manage to see it in bloom somewhere or other. 
If I were subject to rose-cold, I should go crazy; 
for smelling is my delight. Ah! you should see 
my rose-beds in Damascus. But the nicest 
garden I ever made was a very tiny one which 
was planted to please some little children. Shall 
I tell you about it ? ” 

" Oh, yes, do! ” cried Max. 

"It was in a cold country, a long way from 
here, which I never visit till pretty late in 
the season. You have to cross the sea to get to 
it. Once only red people lived there. They 
dwelt in wigwams, and didn’t care much for me, 
except that I melted the snow which kept them 
from their hunting-grounds. But one year, 
on arriving I found something new. A ship 


68 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


lay on the shore, and people with white faces 
were pitching tents and building huts as if 
they meant to stay. Among them were some 
children. 

"Of these, two particularly took my fancy, 
two little sisters, fair as lilies. One was almost 
a baby. When they sat at the door of the tent, 
I used to steal up unseen, and pat their cheeks 
with my hand. They did not know it was I; 
but they liked it. 

" The men were busy in cutting trees for the 
houses. The women had to cook and wash and 
sew. There was hard work in plenty for all. 
No one 'had time to amuse the little ones, and 
the idea occurred to me of making them a 
garden.” 

"That was good of you,” said Thekla, her 
heart warming to this Month who was so kind 
to little children. 

" Ah ! ” replied May, coldly, " you think so ? ” 
Thekla felt snubbed, and she said no more. 

" The place I chose,” said May, resuming her 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


69 


story, "was a good way off in the woods, a 
hidden nook, just such as I love. The trees 
stood thickly about it, but they opened and left 
a spot where the sunshine could come in and 
warm the earth. There for many days I worked 
with busy lingers, clearing away dead leaves 
and roots, and covering the ground with a moss 
carpet thick and soft, into which tiny coral points 
were stuck to please baby eyes. In the very 
middle I set a snow-white mushroom, glistening 
and white as an ivory umbrella; and all about it 
I planted and wreathed the sweetest flower I 
know, — a flower whose cups are as pink as a 
rose, and hold a fragrance so rare, that if a per¬ 
fumer could collect it in his bottles it would be 
worth its weight in gold. When all was done, 
it was the daintiest little garden ever seen; and 
now it only remained to entice the babies thither 
to enjoy it. 

" This was easy. I selected a warm day, that 
they might not catch cold; and, as they sat at the 
door of the tent, I crept up and sat beside them. 


70 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


They dicl not see me, but I whispered in their 
ears, — a low, coaxing whisper which I only use 
for babies. 

"'In the woods,’ I said, 'the pretty, pretty 
woods, are such beautiful things! Red flowers 
and blue flowers, for you to play with; and squir¬ 
rels with frisky tails, and birds which sing all the 
time. Oh, such fun as it is !’ 

" The baby laughed out, and showed her teeth 
white as milk; but it was only at the song in my 
voice, the words she did not understand. The 
elder one listened; and, as I went on, her small 
feet began to twitch and dance, as if they could 
no longer keep still. 

"' Come, Sissy,’ she said. ' Let’s go and 
take a walk over yonder where it is so green. 
Sister ’ll find you some flowers to play with.’ 

"Baby was all ready for that, or any thing 
else. To her, ' Sister ’ was quite a grown-up 
person, because she could talk plain, and wore a 
funny little russet petticoat like their mother’s. 
So side by side the little lambs trotted away. 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


71 


There was nobody on the watch to see them go, 
and soon the dark wood hid them from view. 
I held ' Sister’s’ other hand, and gently guided 
to the right path. 

"It wasn’t much of a path. There were 
tangled mosses and rough boughs to catch the 
little feet; but I held fast, and did not let them 
trip. And by and by, when we came to a 
smoother place, I took from my bosom a butter¬ 
fly I had brought on purpose, and set it flying 
before their eyes. There was no danger of 
tears or fright after that. 

"Such a jolly race as then began! I had 
ordered the butterfly to fly slowly, so the clutch¬ 
ing fingers seemed always just about to grasp it. 
Such funny, tripping steps, such peals of glee! 
Never was a merrier hunt! The hunt led them 
a long way. Once Baby’s fingers almost closed 
on the painted wings, but still the butterfly flew 
before, and still the children ran behind; when 
all at once a third baby appeared, to share the 
chase — another child, a tiny Indian boy. No 


72 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


dress hid his small, dark limbs. A little bow 
was in his hand, a quiver on his back; and as he 
jumped from behind a bush, and joined in the 
frolic, it was like a brown twig flying after two 
snow-white blossoms blown from the tree. 

"The little ones were not frightened. They 
took kindly to a new playmate, whatever his 
color might be. ' Sister ’ made friends at once, 
while Baby stared at him with her big blue eyes. 
On they trotted together; and by and by the 
nimble boy made a clutch which secured the 
butterfly, and the brown head and the fair ones 
met together over the prize. 

" ' Pitty! pitty! ’ cried Baby, and she patted 
the little Indian with her soft hand. Then the 
same soft fingers made a grab at the purple 
wings. Ah me! one of them came off in her 
grasp. My poor butterfly! The first of the 
season! 

"The children were sorry. Children are al¬ 
ways sorry,” said May, tartly, "after the mis¬ 
chief is done; but I don’t see that it makes them 


MAY’-S GARDEN. 


73 


any more careful next time. In two minutes the 
dead insect was forgotten by everybody but me. 
I picked him up, you may be sure; and that 
evening made him a little grave under a par¬ 
tridge-berry vine. 

" It was droll to hear the three babies talk 
together. They had no words in common; but 
they had lingers to point with, comical little 
heads to nod and wag, and eyes to explain 
the meaning of each gesture. So they got on 
wonderfully. The brown baby’s name w T as 
Al-a-gon-qua, but ‘ Sister ’ called him Ally. 

" 'My name Ruth,’ she said, 'her name Baby,’ 
speaking very loud to make it easier to under¬ 
stand. 

" Ally tried to say it, but couldn’t get nearer 
than 'Tute.’ This was stupid; but he was a 
clever baby, for all that. He could take straight 
aim with his bow, and bring down a robin or 
a quail ten yards off. He knew how to find the 
water-springs. He could climb a tree, and swim 
like a jolly little polliwog. Fearless as a squirrel, 
he sprang about the trackless wilderness without 


74 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


pathway or guide, and needed neither, and knew 
no fear. 

w All the time they talked, the little ones were 
getting deeper and deeper into the wood. They 
did not know where they were going; but I 
knew, and guided every step. 

w And now they reached the garden. The sun 
lay warm and bright on the moss; and, at sight 
of the fairy cups of pink and snow and of the 
ivory mushroom, they laughed for joy. 

"'Pitty! pitty! ’ cried Baby again, using her 
sole little word; and, with one consent, all three 
sat down together in the midst of the flowers. 
How I did enjoy it! The long, cold voyage at 
sea, the bleak spring, the crowded home in the 
tents where all were too busy to notice them, 
were forgotten as they sat there in my garden; 
and they buzzed like bees in the sunshine. It 
was the sweetest sight to see! 

" Such games as they played ! Baby pulled 
flowers till her lap was full. She tossed them 
about. She put heaps of them on her head, and 
screamed with laughter as they rained down into 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


75 


her eyes. Ruth meantime was turning the little 
Indian into a big nosegay. She stuck leaves all 
over him. His quiver she filled with blossoms. 
Round his head she put a wreath of long sprays. 
It was great fun. Luckily, the small russet pet¬ 
ticoat had a pocket, and in it was a big ship’s- 
biscuit; so, when dinner-time came, they ate 
that, and were not hungry. As long as the sun 
shone, the play lasted; and he stayed late that 
night, as if to enjoy the pretty show as long as 
possible. But at last the long shadows had 
begun to creep over the place, and I to feel 
embarrassed as to how to get my babies home 
again, when the bark of a dog was heard close 
at hand. Then I was easy; for I knew some¬ 
body was coming to find them. 

“ Sure enough, before the dusk had crept over 
the happy group in the sun, they came, — two 
men with anxious faces, and guns on their 
shoulders, and a pale, frightened woman. That 
was the Mother. They could hardly believe 
what they saw. Bears and savages had been 
in their thoughts all the way. Never once had 


76 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


they dreamed that the little ones were playing 
in my garden. 

" How the woman ran when she saw the chil¬ 
dren! How she caught up and kissed Baby, 
and hugged little Ruth in her arms! 'O chil¬ 
dren !’ she cried, as soon as she could speak, 
' how came you here ? How could you frighten 
us so?’ 

" Ruth looked puzzled. f I guess it was the 
butterfly,’ she said: 4 it came along, and showed 
us the way.’ 

" ' Who is this? ’ asked one of the men. 

" ' That’s Ally,’ explained Ruth. 

" ' Poor boy! ’ said the Mother. ' I thought 
even the savages were too tender of their babes 
to let them thus alone in the forest. We will 
take him home with us, husband, and cherish 
him. Perchance his friends may seek him out.’ 

"But to all their words and kind looks the 
little Indian was deaf. When they pointed to 
the setting sun in token that night was near, he 
pointed to the east as if to say that the same 
sun would rise again before long. They tried to 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


77 


entice him with caresses; but he shook himself 
free, and, signing to some distant part of the 
wood where his home lay, he emptied the flowers 
from his quiver, threw back his black hair with 
a toss, and with a few active bounds disappeared 
from their sight. Ruth cried after him, ' Ally! 
Ally! ’ but it was all in vain. He was gone; 
and he never came back.” 

“ And what became of Ruth and Baby?” asked 
Thekla. 

"Oh! they went home with their Father and 
Mother; and good care was taken that they 
should not stray again. I used to visit them 
sometimes, and play with their hair and soft 
cheeks; and I taught them to call the pink 
blossoms by my name. ' May-flowers ’ they are 
termed to this day; and they are such favorites, 
that I plant immense beds of them in that coun¬ 
try every spring, and then people grumble that 
there are not enough.” 

"And is that all about the little girls?” per¬ 
sisted Thekla. 

" Dear me! ” said May, " you are hard to sat- 


T8 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


isfy. No: of course it ’s not all. Baby grew 
up. Some one said she married the Governor. 
Only think, Baby marry a Governor! As for 
little Ruth, she didn’t grow up: she went to 
Heaven instead; and so stayed a child for ever. 
Nobody knows now where her grave is, except¬ 
ing me; and every year I plant May-blossoms 
upon it.” 

May’s voice was a little sad, and her eyes 
looked sweet and tender. 

" How about Algonqua ? ” inquired Max, who 
was rather ashamed of feeling affected. 

"He became a great chief,” said May, "and 
lived to be a hundred. I heard that he was 
buried in a mound out West, over the top of 
which a railroad now runs. But about that I 
am not sure: my business is not with the dead, 
but the living.” 

And saying this, she rose briskly up. "I 
meant to have done in just half an hour,” she 
remarked, " and it is nearly an hour and a 
quarter. I ’ll take those moments at once, if 
you please.” 


MAY’S GARDEN. 


79 


Her manner was so sharp and decided that 
they did not dare urge her to stay. Max brought 
the can, and Thelda lighted her to the door. 
When she had departed with a curt " good-by,” 
they felt perplexed and puzzled. 

w She’s very pretty,” said they, ” but somehow 
not at all what we expected.” 



“ This is my present,” she said. 


















CHAPTER VI. 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

The lamb speedily became accustomed to his 
new home. When Thekla brought him food, he 
would cuddle close, and lick her fingers, bleating 
softly. Before long he was grown so tame that, 
if Max seized his two fore feet and waltzed round 
the room, he made no objection, but frisked 
funnily, as if enjoying the joke. Best of all, 
however, he loved to lie beside Grandfather’s 
chair, within reach of his stroking hand. The 
old man found continual pleasure in the gentle 
creature, whose wool was scarcely whiter than 
his own snowy hair. With the serene faith of 
old age, he asked no questions as to the new 
possession, but accepted it calmly and without 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS, 


81 


wonderment; for Grandfather was getting very 
old. 



You should have seen Dotty, with her sleeves rolled up, ^Weeping away for dear 
life, and ordering * dear ’ about.” 


6 













































































82 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


As for Thekla, she thought there was never a 
lamb like this. For his sake, she loved all lambs; 
and often, at her wheel, would sing the w Lamb 
Song,” with which babies are hushed to sleep. 
It ran something like this: — 

“ Lambs in the daisies, 

Whiter than they; 

So in her snowy bed. 

Tossing her golden head. 

Frolics my baby, — like lamb at its play. 

“ See how the little one 
Frisks by its dam ! 

Knowing no harm or fear, 

Happy if she is near: 

Thus to my bosom clings closely my lamb. 

“Now comes the Shepherd, 

Counts every one. 

Leads to the pastures fair 
Where the sweet streamlets are. 

Shields from the tempest, and shades from the sun. 

“ Jesu, the Shepherd dear, 

Knoweth his sheep; 

And in His gracious arm, 

Safe from all fear and harm, 

Keepeth his lammies, and ever will keep.” 

So, with songs and busy days, the month sped 
quickly away. 



THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


83 


w Oh dear, I wish it were night! ” said Max on 
the morning of the 30th. " April and May were 

so nice that I ’m really in a hurry to have the 
day go.” 

I ’m not,” replied sensible Thekla. " I like 
to have to wait a little for pleasant things, 
because then they last so much longer. And 
I ’m real glad there are so many more Months to 
come, — six, — no, seven, counting June. Let ’s 
work hard to-day, Brother; and then the time 
will seem short.” 

Max agreed; and by twelve o’clock the 
famous spoon, upon which he had been so long 
engaged, was done. It was cleverly carved for 
a young workman; and, as there was plenty of 
time before the Fair, he set to work at once 
upon a fork to match, and grew so interest¬ 
ed that when the sun set he cried out, "Oh 
dear, it ’s too bad ! The days aren’t half long 
enough.” „ 

Thekla laughed, but was too wise, and too 
tender of Max’s feelings, to say, " I told you so,” 
as some little girls would have done. She only 


84 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


put aside her work, and made haste with the 
supper, that all might be tidy and in order for 
the coming guest. 

The evenings were still cool enough to make a 
fire comfortable, and the hearth glowed bright as 
in winter. But the casement stood open; and, 
one on each side, the children perched themselves 
to wait for June. She arrived promptly, the pink 
sunset glowing behind her figure, as it issued, 
all clothed in white, from the leafy woods. 
Max and Thekla flew to meet her. On her 
head was a wreath of flowering hawthorn. 
She held up the skirt of her gown filled with 
strawberries. 

"Put in a thumb, and pull out something 
nice,” she said merrily, as she saw them coming. 

Both thumbs and fingers were soon red as 
cherries; for all the time June told her tale they 
kept going in and out of the fragrant, fascinat¬ 
ing lap, and conveying red, delicious mouthfuls 
to the little lips dyed deep with juicy stains. It 
was wonderful how the children took to June. 
It seemed as if they could not get close enough. 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 85 

They lay on her lap, put their arms about her 
neck, kissed and played with her hands, were not 
one bit afraid of her; — and she evidently was 
used to and liked it, for she only smiled when 
they did so. This was her story: — 

w Last year I had to take a long ride over the 
Desert, and it was extremely hot. So, as soon as 
was possible I came away, and went to a place 
among the hills, to cool off. A very nice, old- 
fashioned, little place it is. People from the city 
go there in the summer; and this time, as it 
happened, they were earlier than usual. 

W I love children very much, so I soon got 
acquainted with all in the village. There were 
ever so many of them. Some, in fine ruffled 
frocks, were thin and white, and had blue circles 
round their eyes. That was because they had 
been taken to parties in the winter till they were 
almost dead. And some were all worried out 
with going to school, and had round shoulders 
and tired faces. And a few were dear natural 
little boys and girls, with lips and cheeks the 
right color, and plenty of clean common clothes 


86 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


to romp in. I loved all of them, and they me;! 
but these last loved me best. We used to spend! 
whole days out-doors together, playing ' I spy ’ 
and f hide-and-seek ’ in the bushes. As a general 
thing, they were pretty good. There was an 
Anna Maria, to be sure, who slapped her little 
sister now and then; and one boy named Johnny 
who would climb trees after the robins’ nests: 
so that I was forced at last to push him off a 
bough and sprain his ankle, to make him let 
them alone. But, on the whole, I was well 
satisfied with them. And my prime favorite — 
the roundest, jolliest, nicest, prettiest of all — 
was little Dotty Dexter. 

w Dotty was six years old, the dearest, cun- 
ningest mite of a romp you ever saw, and at 
the same time a born housewife. All her life 
it had been so. When two years old, she used 
to take her small apron and trot round the 
nursery rubbing the furniture clean, as she had 
seen nurse do. She could only reach to the 
seats of the chairs, and about half way up the 
legs of the tables; but so far she always made 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


87 


them shine till you could almost see your face 
in them. 

w Dotty had an admirer. He was one year 
older than she, and his name was Willy Pringle. 
She loved him very much, partly because he had 
a jacket with two pockets, and gilt buttons down 
the front, .and partly because when his mamma 
gave him any gum-drops he always brought her 
half of them to suck. So when he asked, 
‘ Would she be his little wife?’ she said she 
would. 

" Down the village street stood a queer little 
house, which nobody lived in. Once it had been 
painted brown; but the paint had rubbed off, 
and now it was all yellow and spotty. The door 
wasn’t locked, because doors never were locked 
in that place; and one day Willy and Dotty 
opened it, and strayed in to take a look. 

w It was a most beautiful house. There was a 
hall, with an upstairs and a downstairs to it. 
The upstairs went to the bed-rooms, and the 
downstairs to the cellar. There were two 
rooms,—a parlor and a kitchen; and two bed- 


88 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


rooms, and the cellar: that made five. There was 
a stove in the kitchen, with real holes in the top, 
and a pipe. It was rather rusty, but a delightful 
stove notwithstanding. In the parlor was a chair 
and a stool and another chair, all three quite rag¬ 
ged; and upstairs, on one of the window-sills, 
stood a long row of bottles. 6 Hair Dye ’ was 
written on the outside of them; and they smelt 
dusty, when you put them to your nose. That 
was all the furniture; except some pieces of plas¬ 
ter, which had fallen down from the ceiling. 

" Dotty and Willy trotted over the place, hand 
in hand. Their conclusion was that there never 
was such a nice house before for two young 
people to go to housekeeping in. 

”'We ’ll call it ours, you know,’ said Dotty, 

' and play we live in it. Only we won’t stay at 
night, ’cause Mamma says mice always get into 
old houses. And it scares me dreadful when I 
hear them scratch.’ 

"'Pooh!’ said Willy, 'to be afraid of mice! 
But then you ’re a girl, Dotty, so it ’s no won¬ 
der. Ain’t it a nice house? We’ll stay here 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


89 


’most all the time, won’t we? Only sometimes 
we ’ll let the others come and play with us.’ 

"' Sometimes,’ replied Mistress Dotty, with an 
air of experience, —'sometimes; but not fekent- 
by , ’cause visitors is a bother! I heard Ma say 
so. Now the first thing we ’ve got to do is to 
clear, up. Where can we get a broom, dear ? ’ 

"Dotty said 'dear,’ because Mamma some¬ 
times called Papa so. 

"'I guess Miss’ Hepsy would lend us one,’ 
answered Willy, 

" Miss Hepsy was a kind old lady who lived 
next door. When she heard who her new 
neighbors were, she laughed till her sides ached, 
and lent them the broom with all the good-will 
in the world. 

"'Keep it as long as you like,’ she said: 
' you ’ll find it handy.’ 

"You should have seen Dotty, with her 
sleeves rolled up, sweeping away for dear life, 
and ordering ' Dear ’ about as if she had been 
ninety years old! When the sweeping was 
finished, they got some water in a 'Hair Dye’ 


90 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


bottle, and washed the stairs with Dotty’s 
pocket-handkerchief. That was fine fun! 

"'Course we must have a door-plate, dear!’ 
said the indefatigable Dotty, this being done, 
' else folks won’t know who to ask the girl is at 
home.’ 

" So Willy cut a square piece of brown paper, 
and printed on it in big letters, 'Dotty and 
Willy Pringle, Esquire.’ After which, they stuck 
it on the door with a bit of glue which he fortu¬ 
nately had in his pocket. He had put it there 
to chew! ” 

Here June stopped, for Max and Thekla were 
in fits of amusement. June laughed herself, 
and showed a dimple in each cheek, and one in 
her chin. 

" I don’t wonder you think it funny,” she said. 
"I was holding my sides all the time myself. 
It was too comical, — the wise air of that mite of 
a Dotty, and the way she made Willy mind her. 

"When the little people went home to dinner, 
and told their intentions about the house, none 
of the older folks made any objections. Dotty’s 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


91 


Mamma walked down to make sure there was 
nothing dangerous about the premises; and, as 
all seemed safe, leave was given them to play 
there as much as they liked. 

"It was wonderful to see how much they 
managed to accomplish. All the village took an 
interest, and the good wives hunted their garrets 
over for old duds to furnish out the little cottage. 
Before long there were chairs and tables enough 
to supply quite a large company; and so much 
cracked crockery that, burning to use it, Dotty 
and Willy were constantly going about and 
begging for something, to drink from their cups 
and pitchers. The Mammas finding this out, 
and thinking a lunch would be a good thing for 
such busy workers, gave the milkman a standing 
order to leave a pint of milk every day at the 
door. Never was any thing so charming. He 
would stop and ring his bell just as he did at the 
grown-up houses, and Dotty — always keeping 
him waiting a moment for dignity’s sake — 
would march out with her tin measure in her 
hand. I suspect the milkman enjoyed the joke 


92 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


as much as anybody, for I never in my life did 
see such big pints as he used to pour out of his 
shining dipper. 

"The whole house was scrubbed every day. 
iNot because it was dirty, but because Dotty 
loved to do it. They lived principally in the 
kitchen, because the village custom was to use 
parlors very little, and keep them very dark; 
but now and then, when Dotty opened a chink 
of the parlor shutters and let in a little light, 
you perceived that the apartment was a magnifi¬ 
cent one. There was a table \Vith two daguerro- 
types open upon it, and a copy of ' Doddridge's 
Rise and Progress,’ put there, as Dotty said, to 
look ' littery.’ The chimney held a great bunch 
of asparagus feathers; and on the shelf, op the 
sill, everywhere, were flowers, — in mugs, bottles, 
pitchers, glasses. Peonies, dandelions, roses, — 
it didn’t matter which: all was fish that came to 
Dotty's net. 

It was a grand sight to see the family at 
dinner,—Mrs. Dotty, Mr. Willy, and a doll named 
Araminta. The meal was simple. Sometimes it 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. ^3 

was bread and butter, sometimes only fennel; 
but always there was milk. The finest table- 
manners were practised. Araminta was never 
allowed to eat with her knife, or put her elbows 
on the. table; and once, when she attempted tCj 
tilt her chair on two legs she was very severely 
punished. Oh! I assure you, Dotty was a disci¬ 
plinarian. 

" I don’t think any palace that ever was built 
gave half so much pleasure as that little house. 
The very crown of all, however, was the tea- 
party, given just before they came away. I 
wasn’t there myself, of course; but September 
told me about it. She was invited. 

w Willy’s Papa had been greatly amused at the 
whole thing, and he helped. Two long evenings 
he spent in getting up the cards of invitation. 
They were neatly printed, and bore the follow¬ 
ing words : — 

“ ‘ Mr. and Mrs. William Pringle 
request the pleasure of your company to tea 
on Wednesday afternoon, at five o’clock, 
at their residence, No. 17 Elm Street. 

R. S. V. P.’ 


94 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


" All the little boys and girls were immensely 
excited when these cards came, and especially at 
' R. S. V. P.’ They were anxious to know what 
it could mean. Some one told them, 'Real 
Sweet Violet Powder;’ but the children said, 
'Pshaw! that was too silly.’” 

“ What did it really mean?” asked Thekla. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” said June. " How 
should I ? I never go to parties. Perhaps the 
last word is ' Pringle : ’ that begins with ' P.’ 
But, whatever it means, it was nice to have them 
printed there, because it set the little folks 
guessing, and doubled the fun. Meantime, 
Dotty and Willy were hard at work getting 
ready for the grand affair. It took almost a 
week, I can tell you. 

" Every thing had to be scrubbed, of course. 
All the windows were washed, and the furniture 
dusted. The neighbors sent contributions of 
cake and biscuit; and, to make the feast more 
imposing, Mr. Pringle ordered up a big basket 
of peaches. 

"When the time came, Dotty and Willy, in 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


95 


their best clothes, sat on two chairs waiting for 
the company, and looking very solemn. Every 
one had to rap on the door; and Dotty, on open¬ 
ing it, would say, ' Please s’cuse me for coming 
my own self, ’cause I’ve sent my girl out on a 
current ,’ which was very impressive. 

w Then the little visitors would come into the 
parlor, and sit down. They all tried to be very 
grave and grown-up; but it didn’t last long with 
most of them. Dotty’s dignity, however, held 
out to the end. When she sat at the head of 
the table pouring tea (out of the pitcher), she 
was a sight to behold. 

”' Mr. Pringle,’ she would say, f please distibit 
those peaches. You ain’t so polite to the com¬ 
pany as I could wish.’ 

*'The very next day after this happy one, 
Dotty’s Mamma and Papa went away, and Dotty 
with them. All the good times were over. She 
sat on her nurse’s lap and sobbed, as they drove 
down the street. When they passed ']STo. 17,’ 
it seemed as if her heart must break. As for 
poor Willy, he felt as badly as she; but he 


96 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


wouldn’t cry, because he was a man and the head 
of a family. When the carriage was quite out 
of sight, he walked down to the house to see 
if it would make him feel better. But it looked 
empty and lonely, with no cunning little figure 
trotting about, broom in hand; and was alto¬ 
gether so dismal that the poor little man couldn’t 
bear it, and, as there was nobody to see, he just 
sat down and cried as hard as Dotty herself. 
Next day he, too, went away. And since then 
nobody has lived in the cottage; but the neigh¬ 
bors still tell of the droll little housekeepers, and 
the nice times they had there.” 

" Oh, don’t go! Tell us another,” pleaded the 
children, as June rose gently from her seat. 

"Look at the clock! ” remonstrated June. 

Sure enough, it was half-past nine. How the 
hours had flown! 

" I’m nothing unless I have plenty of roses,” 
she went on; "and so far I’ve only this handful 
to begin with. The rest are in your can, you 
know.” 

" Take some more, — pray do ! ” entreated 


THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


9T 


Max. "Never mind if the other Months are a 
little short.” 

"But that wouldn 7 t he fair,” replied June. 
" Every one has a right to his own. Good-by, 
Max. Good-by, Thekla darling. Next year, if 
all is w T ell, I ’ll see you again.” 

So saying, she glided from the door. 



7 





























CHAPTER VII. 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 

That visit of June’s was a bright spot, and 
the month that followed a lovely one. Never 
had grass been greener or wild flowers bloomed 
so thickly. The trees were full of birds, which 
sang all day, and all night too, as if too happy 
to sleep. Fragrant winds seemed to woo the 
children out of doors. They passed half their 
time in the wT>od; and often while wandering 
about, fancying that they caught the gleam of 
June’s smile or saw the skirt of her robe vanish¬ 
ing among the trees, they would pursue; and, 
though nothing but a dewdrop or a bough of 
white blossoms waving to and fro could be 
found, still the sense of her presence never left 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


99 


them, and it made the sweetness of the season 
still more sweet. 

Wherever Thekla went, her pets went too. 



& The children loved us, and listened for our voices. Their bright, unt : red eyes could 
perceive us, as we swung from the blue-bells ” 







100 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


The little maid in gray kirtle and scarlet jacket, 
With a yellow chicken on each shoulder, and the 
white lamb following close behind, rubbing its 
cold, soft nose against her hand, made so pretty 
a picture that it seemed sad it should ever grow 
old or in any way alter. But little girls cannot 
always be little, nor is it desirable they should; 
and, for the lamb, practical Thekla had no notion 
of keeping him for a useless plaything. Already 
she had begun to talk of the stockings Grand¬ 
father was to have out of the first shearing when 
lammie should become a sheep, and the com¬ 
forter which she would knit for Max to tie about 
his throat on cold days. And, as if to please 
her, lammie made haste to be bis*. 

As the days came one by one, long and beau¬ 
tiful, it seemed hard to let them go. " Oh, not 
yet! ” the children cried each night to the sun as 
he dipped below the horizon; and each night he 
tarried longer and longer, as if in answer to 
their prayer. But in the end he always had to 
go. And so, too, the sweet Month finally said 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


101 


w Good-by;” and it was time for July to make 
her appearance. 

The few sticks which boiled the porridge had 
blackened into ashes upon the hearth, and the 
children sat hand in hand in the open doorway. 
A breeze was stirring. Sweet smells came on 
its wings from the woods. It was the warmest 
evening yet, and the first upon which the fire 
had been suffered to go utterly out. 

By and by they saw July coming. She had 
taken off her hat for coolness, and was fanning 
herself with the broad brim. It was made of the 
leaves of some foreign tree, and shaded her 
bright, sunburnt face like a green roof. Thekla 
privately thought that it must have been taken 
off a good many times before, or July wouldn’t 
be so brown. 

w Well, I’m glad to get here,” she said, seating 
herself and flapping the hat to and fro: " it’s 
almost too warm for long walks. Not that I 
can afford to sit still in any case: I’m too active 


102 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


a person for that. But just here it is really quite 
comfortable. I supposed I should find you all 
burnt up, like the people outside there,” pointing 
to the wood; "so by way of a present I brought 
these,” and she produced two palm-leaf fans. 

The children were delighted. They had never 
seen any before. "Are they really made of 
leaves?” they asked. 

" To be sure,” said July. " How odd that you 
shouldn’t know! Why, over in America every 
man, woman, and child has one. They are 
plenty as blackberries, — babies cry for them. 
And, speaking of blackberries, here is a pocket¬ 
ful I picked as I came along. You can be 
eating them to keep yourselves from getting 
impatient; for I’m all out of breath, and can’t 
begin yet.” Saying which, she turned the pocket 
inside out on the door-step. 

This was good fun. Blackberries grew too 
far off to be things of every day, and these were 
the first of the season. One after another, the 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


103 


shining black beads disappeared down the little 
throats. By the time the last had vanished, 
July was rested, and ready to commence. 

"You must know,” she said, "that way up 
North, in a region which I sometimes visit, are 
two beautiful peaks called the ' Marble Moun¬ 
tains.’ No mountains in all the country are so 
beautiful as they. When the full noon smites 
them, they gleam like snow; and their glistening 
seams give out sharp glints, between which lie 
shadows of the purest, softest gray. But at 
sunset and sunrise they are all lovely pink, like 
roses; and so enchanting do they look, that 
miles and miles away the children watch them, 
and fancy the fairies must live there. 

" It is a wild spot, and few people have ever 
reached it. Excepting me: I go everywhere. 
But for a long time I contented myself with 
hasty calls, and did not force my way to the heart 
of the place, where the thick shadows lie. Last 
year, however, I resolved to make more thorough 


104 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


work. Slowly and carefully I toiled through the 
dense brushwood and the deep glens; and at last, 
in the very loneliest recess of the mountain, I 
came upon — what do you think ? — a fairy! 
The little children far away had been right in 
their guess, you see. 

“It was Midsummer-eve, the fairies’ own day; 
and he was celebrating it with an out-door tea. 
Ilis seat was in the middle of a circle of vivid 
green grass, the kind that once went by the name 
of a ' fairy ring.’ He was quite an old fairy. 
It is difficult to determine about ages, but I saw 
that at a glance. Beside him stood an immense 
toadstool, upon which was placed his supper of 
honey posset; but he didn’t seem to have much 
appetite, — in fact, he was dreadfully out of 
spirits, as I found after we had talked a little 
while. 

"'I am the last of the little men in green,’ 
he said, glancing down at his clothes, which 
were indeed of a delicate duckweed tint. 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


105 


'Many, many centuries have I lived on earth; in 
fact, I may say that you see before you that 
" oldest inhabitant ” so frequently referred to in 
the newspapers. My youth was a happy one, — 
how happy I do not now like to recall. We 
fairies then were the great folk in England. 
Perhaps you have heard of England ? ’ 

"I mentioned that I had, and was in the habit 
of making a visit there every year. 

"This pleased the fairy. 'Ah! that is a 
country/ he went on. 'Such moonlight! such 
woods ! such delightful society ! Sherwood 
Forest now! Many and many a night have I 
danced and made merry there in the days of 
bold Hobin Hood! But that was long, long 
ago. 

"' When we little people heard that a ship was 
to cross the sea, and bring a colony of English 
to settle on these shores, we held a meeting to 
consider what was to be done. There were 
children among the colonists. If ow it is a fixed 


106 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


rule among us that, wherever children go, fairies 
must go too. 

" ' It was a sad and painful thing to leave that 
dear land where we were honored and believed 
in, but we are not of the kind who shrink from 
the call of duty. I was among the earliest 
volunteers. Ah! if I had known,’ said the fairy, 
shaking his head, 'had guessed, half what lay 
before us, I should never have " signified in the 
usual manner ” — by raising my right wing — a 
readiness to go. But I was young in those 
days, — young and ardent; and my soul was 
full of courage and adventure. 

"'Of the voyage I will not trust myself to 
speak. None of the remedies — blue-pill, 
quassia, chloroform, ice on the spine, mustard 
on the stomach, or keeping-your-eye-immovably- 
on-a-fixed-object — had been invented, and we 
suffered agonies. When the ship touched 
Plymouth Rock, I could hardly drag myself 
ashore. 


THE LAST OF THE FAIPJES. 107 

"'It was. cold, very cold. No going out of 
doors was possible. We huddled together in the 
tents, keeping in dark corners, and as much out 
of sight as we could, for fear of getting our 
little friends into trouble. For these colonists 
were a severe folk; and children will talk, you 
know. And if ever we crept out to crack a tiny 
joke with one, tell a story to another, or sing a 
snatch in the ear of the cooing baby, some 
chatterer was sure to spill and bubble over with 
fun and merriment; and then, lo! and behold, 
there would be a catechism lesson to learn, or 
some stern reproof, which sent us cowering into 
our retreats to weep over our poor little sobbing 
friends. So in time the children learned to keep 
all the secrets we whispered them to themselves; 
and that did not please us either, for we love 
jests and laughter and outspoken words. 

"'Well, those hard times after a while passed 
by. The people grew and increased. They con¬ 
quered the wilderness, and built many towns. 


108 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES* 


A different order of things sprang up. It was 
then that we fairies reaped the reward of our 
self-devotion. No longer was it considered sin^ 
ful to spin fanciful tales, or sing funny rhymes. 
The children loved 11 s, and listened for our 
voices. Their bright, untired eyes could per¬ 
ceive us, as we swung from the blue-bells, or 
pelted each other with the brown pollen of tiger- 
lilies; and they rejoiced with us. Babies crooned 
in the sun as we rocked their cradles. And we 
played no tricks, 9 declared the fairy, growing 
excited: ' we were a rational and well-conducted 
people. Whether the catechism and godly talk 
we had heard in the tents had sobered us, I know 
not; but certain it is we had lost some of our 
mischief. No longer did we tweak the noses of 
ploughboys, or incite the cow to kick over the 
milking-pail. No! O 11 the contrary, we were the 
helpers in all useful work. We made the butter 
come; we swept the rooms, and straightened 
the shelves of good housewives; and were a 
general blessing to the land. 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


1U9 


"'Alas! what a poor return have we met for 
all this ! For a new age has dawned, and 
another kind of child, — a child who reasons and 
thinks, and studies arithmetic and the science 
of objects. We have lost our worshippers. 
Even the babies sprawling in their mothers 7 
laps know better than to believe in us. Long 
we strove, — we practised all our lore, traced 
our rings in the grass, dropped fairy favors into 
little stockings, made bluebottle-fly and dragon¬ 
fly our messengers, — but all in vain. The wish 
to see was wanting. 

"' Did we spin for hours, and overlay the 
grass with a silken carpet to dazzle and enchant 
early peepers? Nobody cared a button; and 
some parent would be heard explaining, "It is 
nothing but cobweb, my dear. Come to the 
library after breakfast, and I ’ll read you about 
it in a book of Natural History.” 'Yes,’ said 
the fairy, bitterly, ' it had come to that, — the 
book of Natural History instead of the "Fairy 


110 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


Book ”! Or did we spread a tiny table like this, 
with strawberries ranged in row, and leave it 
in the path where little travellers were wont to 
pass, no one heeded it. " Only an old toadstool!” 
they would cry, and kick it aside with their 
copper-toed boots. Ah! it was enough to break 
a fairy’s heart! 

"' When we lit our tapers, and went out in 
procession in the evening, we were called fire¬ 
flies! Our pretty songs, as we rocked in the 
boughs, were ascribed to the wind; and " Hadn’t 
baby better have on something warmer, dear? ” 
Our fairy favors were treated with scorn. 
Once I dropped a tester into a little girl’s shoe, 
as she paddled in the brook. Was she pleased? 
Not at all! "Here’s an ugly yellow leaf in my 
boot,” she said; and she plucked it out and 
threw it away. 

"' What was left for us to do, our occupation 
gone? Nothing! We resigned ourselves to 
the inevitable. One by one we deserted the 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


Ill 


haunts, which alas! knew us no more, and 
retreated farther and farther from the abodes of 
men. At last we chose this Marble Mountain 
for our home. Here long years we dwelt, a 
numerous colony; for other fugitives joined our 
retreat. The Banshee inhabited for some months 
a cave upon that western slope; but her per¬ 
petual lamentations made us sad, and at last we 
united in a remonstrance; and she left for the 
Ojibeway Country, where she still resides. 
Bogey too — harmless, though black — was for 
long our hewer of wood and drawer of water. 
He now sleeps yonder, under the greenwood tree; 
while beside him slumbers that forgotten worthy, 
w The man who lived in the chimney,” once the 
terror of refractory nurseries. Bug-a-boo also 
joined our band for a while, but deserted us for 
a situation among the Ku-Ivlux. Even Santa 
Claus talked at one time of uniting himself to 
our number, but he thought better of it. I con¬ 
clude,’ said the fairy, ironically, 'that mankind 


112 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


found out some way of turning him to account, 
and making him useful, or he would certainly 
have come. 

"' One by one our once merry company 
drooped and faded. The monotonous life of 
this place was too sad for them, used as they 
were to sunny nurseries, gay flower-beds, and 
the world of fun. The graves of my brothers 
and sisters lie about me, and here in the midst 
of them I dwell. It is years since I have left 
my hermitage or seen a child; — in fact, I don’t, 
believe there is such a thing as a real child left 
in the land.’ 

c 'So saying, the fairy ended his tale with 
a profound sigh. He pulled his pointed cap 
(which was exactly like a little red extinguisher) 
over his eyes, and to all my questions replied 
not another word. And so I left him sitting 
alone and silent. Whether he still lives I do 
not know. His pooi* body was thin as a grass¬ 
hopper’s; and I suspect when I visit the moun- 


THE LAST OF THE FAIRIES. 


113 


tains again this year, I shall find his little 
skeleton hidden away under a bunch-berry or 
a blade of grass.” 

"Oh,” sighed Thekla, "how lovely! That 
was the best yet.” 






CHAPTER VIII 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 

"I WONDER what kind of a story we shall 
have to-night,” said Max, as "they sat on the 
door-step waiting for August to' appear. 

Thekla, who had ,been ironing, looked very 
pale and complained of a headache. The day 
had been hot; no cool wind had come with even¬ 
ing to refresh them ; the leaves hung motionless. 
Far, far away the tinkle of a bell was audible, 
from some animal astray in the Forest, 

"I don’t recollect much about August,” said 
Thekla, languidly. "Was she pretty?” 

" I don’t either,” answered Max. " There was 
such a confusion that night the Months came, 
that I got them all mixed up in my mind. I 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


115 


think, though, she wasn't a she : she was a 
man/’ 



•* For only think what that woman had on her hands : . . . she hitched the horse, . . 
snatched up her babies, and a poor old man who lived with them.” 



































































































116 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


" Oh, no! ” cried Thekla, " August never could 
be a man, Max. What are you talking about? 
I remember now: she was sweet and brown, 
and held a sheaf of wheat in her hand.” 

"No,” persisted Max: "that was September 
or October, — I forget which? Depend upon it, 
August will turn out to be a gentleman.” 

" And depend upon it, she is a lady! ” 

Thekla’s voice was positively fretful. Max 
was vexed for a moment; then, remembering how 
patiently her little hands had worked all the 
morning smoothing shirts and stockings for him, 
his heart grew tender. Instead of going on 
with the dispute, he moved his seat closer; and, 
pulling the flushed cheek down on his shoulder, 
began to cool it with gentle wavings of his palm- 
leaf fan. It was extremely pleasant and com¬ 
fortable. Thekla closed her eyes : then she 
began to think of a long procession of sheep 
jumping over a fence; and to count them one 
by one, first a fleecy head, then a woolly tail; — 
and next she was fast asleep. After which, she 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


117 


waked up suddenly; for Max gave a sudden 
jump, and behold, August was close to them. 

Thekla was wrong, after all; and Max right. 
For there stood a handsome young man, with 
quick, fiery eyes and a bronzed face, round 
which floated locks of auburn hair. He seemed 
very hot, and was wiping the drops from his 
forehead; but, for all his good looks, there was 
something about him from which the children 
rather shrank. 

Yet he did not appear a bad fellow either; for 
he made himself at home on the door-step, and 
borrowed the palm-leaf as if he had been one of 
the family. Any thing so curious or beautiful as 
his dress the children had never before seen. It 
was a loosely fitting garment of vivid green, 
thickly wrought all over with a pattern in which 
ferns and vines and dense, bright leaves were 
interlaced and twisted in the most wonderful 
manner. A chain of fire-flies swung about his 
neck like a collar, his hat was looped up at the 
side with a glow-worm of immense size, which, 


118 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


whenever he moved, glanced and gleamed in a 
sudden and bewildering way. 

" What’s the matter? ” he asked Thckla, in 
rather an abrupt tone. 

" I’m a little tired, sir,” she replied timidly. 

"Oh, ho!” said August. "I’ve caught you. 
You’ve been working at something! I never 
mistake the signs. Now see here, — that’s a 
thing I don’t allow: it’s against my rules. You 
may thank your luck I was not here. Whenever 
I find children doing it, I give them a rap of 
some sort to remember me by. So recollect that, 
and look out.” 

Thekla shrank back, half alarmed; for, though 
August laughed, his voice w T as menacing. And 
she reflected with satisfaction that the big wash 
just concluded would be the last before winter. 
For you must know that, in the Black Forest, 
Monday is not the terrible occasion it is with 
us, and " washing days ” come round a great 
way apart, once in three months perhaps, or 
something like that. 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


119 


f 'I’m going to tell you,” saicl August, after 
sitting some time in silence, with his eyes glaring 
at vacancy, — "I’m going to tell you the history 
of a spark of fire. 

" It was born in a hunter’s pipe. When he 
had done smoking, he shook out the hot ashes, 
and went his way. Most of them died in silence; 
but one, my little spark, fell upon a brown 
leaf in a lonely place. 

" It was very small, and rather dull. None of 
its friends and relations supposed it would live 
long enough to attain to honor and distinction. 
But I saw it when it fell, and foretold for it a 
career; in fact, I may say assisted it somewhat 
in its efforts to get on. 

" It had been a dry spring. All the rills and 
watercourses in the woods were exhausted; and 
where once their bubbling voices sounded, thirsty, 
white pebbles lay in the sun. The world was 
like a tinder-box. Slowly and scantily the sap 
coursed in the veins of the trees; the vines which 
clothed them were crisped with heat. The little 
spark had fallen at a fortunate moment. 


120 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. . 


w It was very little: a spoonful of water could 
have quenched it. But it had a soul which 
longed to expand and soar, and now its chance 
was come. Steadily and stealthily it ran to and 
fro: first a twig, then a bough, then a bush, 
received it. Day by day, day by day, — now 
it w^as a carpet, wonderful and red, glinting the 
ground; then a fountain, which threw sparks like 
spray into the air; next it climbed the trees, and 
hissed and shouted aloft with an angry voice; 
then, writhing like an angry snake, it twisted its 
folds round a fallen trunk, and strangled it in 
fierce embrace. AVhen a week had gone by, the 
little spark gathered up its force, and prepared 
to travel. It had grown terrible. Whole rivers 
of water would not quench it now. 

w Terrible, but full of splendor! Its crested 
neck reared above the forest; like a volcano its 
column of flame shot into the air; like an ava¬ 
lanche it poured in fiery flood over whole acres. 
Strange, fantastic patterns it traced as it went 
along, shapes of leaf and bough and glowing 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


121 


vine; but there .was none to admire them. The 
breath of its fury was too hot for that! 

"And now the woods were passed, and it 
reached the* open country. You should have 
seen the fences rush like blazing serpents to 
carry the tidings to the barns! And the barns 
lit up in welcome, and called upon the dwell¬ 
ings to do the same! Out rushed the men, 
cows lowed, horses tied to burning mangers 
cried for aid with terrible voices, women and 
children wept, the labor of years vanished in 
an hour! Ah! those were glorious times for 
the little spark! 

"I was there of course, had been there all 
along. Every mile of the burning lightened my 
work for another year, and I patted the spark 
on its back and urged it to speed. It was proud 
at heart now. 'I will burn,’ it said, 'till I dry 
up the great sea itself.’ It raised its head and 
defied heaven. But I saw clouds coming, dark 
clouds, — storm-clouds, fatal to fire r — and I 
cheered it on. 


122 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 

" We were drawing near a clearing. I had 
been there before, — a neat, thriving place where 
all was in order, and children played beside the 
door. I recollected one little girl with a rosy 
face, and for the first time felt the stirrings of 
pity round my heart. So, holding back my com¬ 
panion a * moment, I shouted, from amid the 
smoke, a warning to the sleepers within, — a 
warning in an awful voice. 

" In a minute they were awake, and out they 
poured. It was pitiful to see. Calmly and 
without fear they had lain down to sleep, think¬ 
ing us miles away. And here we were at the 
very door! The farmer was not at home, but 
his wife was. And all I can say is,” remarked 
August, admiringly, "if he ? s any more of a man 
than she, it would be worth people’s while to go 
a good way to look at him. 

" For only think what that woman had on her 
hands. Behind, around, all was fire. Sparks 
were falling upon the barn, the sheep in the 
fields were blazing and dying in dreadful heaps. 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


123 


Her little children screamed and clung to her. 
But she never faltered. With quick, nervous 
fingers she hitched the horse to the wagon, flung 
in some clothes, some blankets, whatever she 
could find soonest, snatched up her babies, and 
a poor old man who lived with them, and lashed 
the horse to a gallop. Before them was the 
open road, behind was death! 

" The fire had struggled from my grasp. 
Furious at the sight of his escaping prey, he 
flew forward. With rapid clutch he seized the 
dwelling, the farm buildings, overtook the fran¬ 
tic cattle, hurled them this way and that, and 
took the track of the retreating wagon. High 
in air his dreadful eye glared after the fugitives; 
and myriad fiery tongues licked right and left, 
the avenues of escape. 

w But the woman never blenched! Once she 
stopped, — actually stopped, — though the hot 
breath was on her cheeks! It was at the sound 
of children’s voices crying aloud. There were 
five of them, alone in a house, with none to help. 
She hurried them into the wagon. There was 


124 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


no room for her now, so she stood upon the step 
as she drove, and lashed the horse forward. On! 
on! We were drawing very near. 

"So near that our hands could reach them. 
One spark darted upon the clothing: it smoul¬ 
dered, then flamed. The children screamed; but 
the mother seized the garment and threw it from 
the wagon, where it blazed harmlessly. And still 
the horse galloped, and still the race continued. 

" At last they could go no farther. The fire 
had outrun them: it was before, beside, behind, 
— it left no pathway anywhere. The mother 
did not give up. She stopped the horse, crowded 
the little ones under the wagon, hung blankets 
over the * sides to keep off the heat, and sitting 
in the midst, the baby in her lap, waited her fate. 

" The courage of that woman,” said August, 
clearing his throat, " I never saw equalled. It 
wasn’t in my power to help her much. Fire is 
a bad master, people say; and I was beginning 
to find it true. It mastered me. But one thing 
I did: I stood by the horse’s head, and held him 
tight so that he could not stir, even when the 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


125 


fiery rain fell fast and singed his hair. It was 
the only chance for the poor children. And, 
being there, of course I could see all that went 
on under the wagon. 

" They were wonderfully patient. ' Mother, 
are we going to burn up?’ I heard one child 
say. But the poor mother did not answer, she 
only gave a sob. None of them cried or 
screamed; but they just sat cuddled up to¬ 
gether, and were very quiet. Once the smallest 
one asked for a drink of water ! I declare, 
that made me feel bad ! 

" Just then I heard a sound above the roar of 
the flames which caused me to prick up my ears ; 
for I knew it’s meaning, and I said, 'Ah, ha! 
Master Spark, look out for yourself! ’ And 
pretty soon a drop fell on my nose. It felt like 
ice, I was so hot. And next the flames began to 
hiss and spit, for more drops were falling; and 
then they made a great swoop at the wagon, 
but I was beforehand with them there. 

" 'Hands off ! ’ I said, and the rain chuckled as 
it heard me. The fire raged; but it was no use. 


126 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


Guggle, guggle, spit, spit, — the blessed shower 
continued to fall; and at last its roar was louder 
than the flames had ever been. The spark had 
met its match. 

" Ah! what a glad sound that was to the group 
under the wagon! The children laughed for joy. 
They crept out to catch the cool flood upon their 
parched limbs. But the mother did not stir. 
Her face was hidden in her hands. I think she 
was praying. 

w Hours and hours did the rain continue. It 
fought the fire as mortal foes fight, it wrestled 
and beat it down, and tore and trampled it 
under foot. But to the last the eye of the little 
spark gleamed red and vengeful, and only when 
it was cold in death did its fury go out. Water 
had won the day.” 

Max and Thekla had been too horrified to 
move during this story, which August recited 
rapidly and with great excitement. Tears were 
running down Thekla’s face when he ended. 
w And the children,” said she, " what did they 
do?” 


THE STORY OF A LITTLE SPARK. 


127 


w Oh, they got along somehow! ” said August 
indifferently, as if ashamed of his emotion. 
w People took them in, and after a while they 
built another house. One little boy had inter¬ 
mittent fever, but that wasn’t much. I shall 
see them again in a few days, probably; and one 
thing I’ve made up my mind to, — that woman’s 
corn is to ripen this year, if nobody’s else does.” 

So saying, August arose, and shook himself, 
the fire-flies round his neck gleaming like a 
blazing string as he did so. 

" I must be off! ” he said. " Where are my 
moments? ” 

Max brought them. So absorbed had he and 
Thekla been in the peril of the tale, that neither 
of them noticed that August had produced no 
gift. He, however, was less forgetful. 

" Here’s your present, you know,” he said 
with a malicious smile, just as he turned to go. 
” Take care! I have to open the bottle first. 
Crick, crack! — here it goes.” As he uttered 
these words, he pulled out a cork, and made a 
kind of toss. A buzzing sound was heard: 


128 THE story of a little spark. 

something small and winged flew out, and filled 
the air. August gave a loud laugh, and vanished 
in the Forest. 

Max and Thekla stood staring after him for 
a moment, stupefied with astonishment. Then 
they began to dance up and down, and slap 
themselves right and left with countenances as 
red as fire. Curious lumps were forming on 
their faces and hands. You see mosquitoes are 
unknown in the Black Forest, and August’s gift 
was a couple of dozen — very lively ones — from 
the Jersey Flats! 



Max “ moved his seat closer; and, pulling the flushed cheek down on his shoulder, 
began to cool it with gentle wavings of his palm-leaf fan.” 











CHAPTER IX. 

THE DESERT ISLAND. 

The month that followed was a sorry one. 
Day after day rose dry and burning: no cool 
winds fanned the breathless nights, no rain fell. 
The poor children had headache, they felt limp and 
weary all over; and yet each morning brought 
the same hard work which must be done, whether 
or no. And sleep was rendered almost impos¬ 
sible by the mosquitoes, who seemed to possess 
stings and wings and buzzes such as never 
mosquitoes boasted before. Whenever poor 
Thekla dropped into a nap, after hours of toss¬ 
ing, in the stifling loft which served her for bed¬ 
room, ” Spizz-z-z-z ” the teasing little trumpets 
would begin; and immediately she would be* 


9 


130 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


broad awake again, ready to cry with fatigue, 
and dealing biows right and left, as if battling 



O Rfiggy! she cried, the boat is running away with us ! 1 — 4 Don’t cry, Emmy ! * 
he exclaimed. It isn t our fault, so nobody will scold us. And now we Ml see the 
Island. Just think what fun! ’ and the whole boat-load shouted, and clapped their 
hp.nds.” 








THE DESERT ISLAND. 


131 


with an unseen foe. Max spent hours in hunt¬ 
ing them; but the mosquitoes hid themselves 
cunningly, and could seldom be found. Never 
was such a tiresome, unpleasant August! Before 
the last day came, our children quite hated him, 
in spite of his beautiful face and rich, strange 
garments. He was a cruel, bad fellow, they 
said; — they never wished to see him again. 

That closing evening was hot as ever. The 
sun went down red and lurid. As the children 
sat side by side in the door-way, watching the 
long level beams stream through the Forest, Max 
caught a distant glimpse of August, pausing and 
glancing back, as for a last view of the cottage. 
Max touched Thekla’s arm to make her look. 
At that moment August raised his hand as in 
mocking gesture of farewell, and turned to go. 
Another figure met his as he moved away. They 
stopped, embraced, then August vanished; and 
with slow, gliding steps his companion advanced. 
It was September, — a noble, matronly form, 
with dark-flushed, stormy brow, frank smiling 


132 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


lips, and a sheaf of corn nodding oyer her 
shoulder. 

Half-fearful and half-glad, the children rose to 
meet her, A basket was in her hand. Without 
speaking, she raised the lid, and showed clusters 
of ripe grapes, purple and white, whose delicious 
smell filled the air. Then, putting an arm round 
the brother and sister, she made them sit down 
on either side of her, and began to dole out the 
fruit, first to one and then the other; saying 
nothing, but laughing silently at the eager eyes 
and mouths. Coolness seemed to come from 
her garments; and, as if following her track, a 
fresh wind sprang up in the Forest, and, blowing 
down upon the group, rustled the leaves, waved 
Thekla’s light hair, and refreshed soul and body 
like wine. 

How comfortable it was ! The children 
brightened, and began to chirp and twitter like 
birds. "How good you are to us! ” cried Max; 
while Thekla, holding September’s hand, cuddled 
close to her, and laughed with pleasure. 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


133 


At last September spoke. Her voice was 
wonderfully rich and musical, but full of deep, 
powerful tones, which it was easy to imagine 
could be heard above the storm, or the loudest 
thunder. What she said was, — 

" Are you better now, dears?” 

" Oh! much better,” they told her. 

" I met my Brother August as I came along,” 
continued September; “ and I guessed, from what 
he said, that he had been teasing you. He is a 
fine fellow, but has a quick, revengeful temper; 
and he bears a grudge against Max for steal¬ 
ing the moments. But it is too bad to visit it 
on little Thekla, for she wasn’t to blame.” 

"I’d rather share with Max, please,” said 
Thekla, shaking her head: "we don’t want any 
thing different.” 

" That’s a kind little sister,” answered Sep¬ 
tember. " Well, August has made you uncom¬ 
fortable; but, after all, he hasn’t been so bad, for 
he might have given you a stroke with the great 
yellow sun-club he keeps on purpose to use when 


134 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


he is furiously angry. I can tell you that the 
people on whom that falls don’t forget it in a 
hurry.” " 

Just then Thekla jumped, and slapped the 
back of her neck sharply. 

" What’s the matter ? ” asked September. 

" It’s those horrid bugs,” explained Max. 
" August brought them, a whole bottle full, and 
emptied them all over the house. You can’t 
think how they bite and keep us awake.” 

"Aha!” laughed September, "that was real¬ 
ly too bad ! But you shan’t be vexed any 
longer with them, Max. I have something in 
my pocket which will soon put a stop to their 
biting.” 

So saying, she produced a small box, and held 
it out for the children to look at. It was marked 
on the lid, — 

Early Frost, 
of 

Mrs. September’s Specific for 
Mosquitoes, Gnats, and Midges. 

(None Genuine without this Label.) 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


135 


Inside were a quantity of fine glittering pellets 
like minute hail-stones. 

Just then a mosquito lit on Thekla’s arm. 
September laid her finger on her lip, and quick 
as lightning dashed a pinch of the ” Specific ” 
over him. The mosquito fluttered a second, 
dropped, and lay dead on the ground. 

" You see! ” said Mrs. September. 

Then she rose up, and went into the house, 
telling the children to sit still and finish the 
grapes. They heard her moving softly to and 
fro: after a while she came again, and showed 
them a handful of spider-web legs and gauzy 
wings. 

” There they are,” she said. “ Not one of them 
has escaped. You will sleep soundly to-night, 
little ones; and I shall give Master August a 
piece of my mind next time we meet, for playing 
such naughty tricks. 

w And now for my story. By the way, have 
either of you ever seen the sea? ” 

K No,” replied Thekla. w But the Grandfather 
did once; and Fritz is there now.” 


136 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


" Fritz ? Who is he ? ” 

«Don’t you know?” said Max. "That’s our 
big brother, who went away a great while ago, 
when Thekla and I were very little. He was 
coming back5 but, then, he didn’t come. I don’t 
know why. And now the Grandfather says 
he never will. Is it because the sea is such 
a pleasant place?” 

"I don’t know,” replied September, dream¬ 
ily,— "I don’t know why he doesn’t come. 
But if you never saw the sea, how in the 
world am I going to make you understand my 
story? ” 

" It’s very big, — I know that,” ventured 
Max, — " and all water.” 

" Did you ever so much as see a lake or a 
pond? ” 

"No, only the little spring down there,” 
answered Thekla. "Oh, I know! (joyfully). 
I can guess! It’s a great, great deal of water, 
thousands and thousands of times more than 
there is in our rain-water tub! ” 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


137 


w Bless me!’’ cried September, almost in a 
pet. " Rain-water tub, indeed! Why, child, if 
all the tubs in creation were put side by side, 
they wouldn’t make a quarter of a sea! Quar¬ 
ter! they wouldn’t make a millionth part! Now 
listen, while I tell you about it. 

” It stretches miles and miles and miles. Get 
into a boat, and sail for weeks and months, still 
the shore lies beyond, and still you are at sea! 

* w It is blue as the sky, and beautiful silver 
dimples come and go over its face. Or at other 
times it is green, with waves fifty times the 
height of your hut, and they.rise and fall, and 
break in foam white as milk. And, when the 
storms blow, it is black, — black as night, — 
and the sound of its roaring is like wild beasts 
over their prey. 

"I love the ocean. He and I are friends, 
though almost every year we have a mighty 
quarrel, and the world rings with the noise. 
But afterwards we kiss and make up, and part 
affectionately. 


138 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


"And the little ones who live by the sea are 
my special pets. There are ever so many of 
them, of all sizes and ages; and our frolics go 
on from sunrise to sleepy-time.” 

"What do you play at?” asked Thekla, 
getting interested. 

" All sorts of games. The game of ' Drown’ 
for one, — that is played in the shallows, — and 
' Wet my neighbor,’ and 'Polliwog.’ We build 
sand-forts; go fishing with crooked pins; rock- 
by-baby in boats; paddle about with no shoes 
on. I collect all sorts of pretty shells and weeds 
for them; and drive schools of bright fish, to 
plunge and jump where they can be seen. On 
Sunday there are Sunday schools, and they 
jump to a tune in short metre. Oh, there is no 
end to the amusing things we do, when we get 
together! They think there is nobody like me, 
especially the Brown children.” 

"The Brown children?” said Max, inquir- 
ingly. 

"Yes: the ones who were carried off in the 
boat, you know.” 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


139 


"But we never heard about them before,” 
remonstrated little T held a. 

" Why, so you didn’t ! ” cried September, 
recollecting herself. " Well, you shall now; for 
that’s the very story I’m going to tell you. 

"There are a good many of the Browns; and 
they live at a very nice place on the sea-coast, 
called ' Timber Cove.’ Plenty of rocks and sand 
and surf there; and these jolly little Browns — 
prime pets of mine — are as fond of the ocean 
as a nest full of young sea-mews. They were 
always on the beach; playing plays, and 'mak¬ 
ing - believe ’ about going to sea, — especially 
about going to an Island, which was one of their 
favorite plans. 

"I’ve seen Islands enough in my time, and 
don’t think much of them,” went on September. 
" But there was a book in the nursery, which the 
Brown children were for ever poring over, and 
which was all about an Island. I don’t recollect 
its name; in fact, I don’t know how to read my¬ 
self, having always lived outdoors, and hated 


140 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


schools. But what little I picked up about it 
sounded particularly silly; and as for the Island, 
it was like none I ever saw or heard of. The 
little Browns, however, believed in it as if it had 
been law and gospel; and were perfectly sure 
if they could only just get out to a certain 
Island, which lay just in sight from the shore, 
that there they should find all the things spoken 
of in the book, — tigers and serpents and buffa¬ 
loes, and what not! 

" One afternoon they were playing in a boat, 
which was drawn up on the beach,—Reggy and 
Alice and Emmy, and Jack and Nora, and little 
Tom, the baby. I was busy that day. The Sea 
and I had engaged in a wrangle, and both our 
tempers were getting up. I forgot to look after 
my pets, and one of the watch-dogs of Ocean 
seized the opportunity to creep up and do them 
a mischief. These dogs are called ' Tides,’ be¬ 
cause they are generally kept tied up, out of 
harm’s way; but now and then the wild things 
break loose, and then there is a fine to-do. 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


141 


" The Tide was cunning. Silently he prowled 
about, drawing nearer and nearer, till at last he 
fastened his teeth in the bow of the boat. Then 
he pulled and pulled, — very gently, so as not to 
alarm the children; and little by little dragged 
them away from the shore into the deeper water. 
Next he gave a shove, and floated them off com¬ 
pletely. And then, beside himself with joy and 
frolic, he rushed for the beach; and, plunging 
and roaring, began to turn summersaults on the 
sand, delighted at his success. The little ones 
played on, unconscious. 

" At last Emmy looked up, and gave a scream. 

"' O Reggy! ’ she cried,' the boat is running 
away with us! Jump out quick, and pull it in 
again.’ 

” But Reggy poked with a stick over the side, 
and looked sober. The water was already over 
his head, and getting deeper every moment. 

" Then a bright thought seized him. ' Don’t 
cry, Emmy!’ he exclaimed. 'It isn’t our fault, 
so nobody can scold; and now we’ll see the 


142 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


Island! Just think what fun! It’s the most 
splendiferous chance!’ And he swung his hat, 
and gave a great shout. 

"So the whole boat-load, little Tom and all, 
shouted too, and hurrahed and clapped their 
hands, and began to talk about what they would 
do on the Island. They never felt afraid for 
one moment. Poor little lambs ! 

" All this time I was bandying words with my 
friend the Sea, who was in a very ugly humor. 
I was getting mad myself, and was flinging 
about, cuffing the ears of the pert little waves 
as they looked on and tittered over the quarrel, 
when lo! and behold, I became aware of the 
Brown family floating out in a boat, and in the 
highest spirits, to meet us. And then I was 
frightened, as you may imagine. 

"There was no time to be lost. Open war 
between myself and the Sea must begin before 
long I well knew, but I turned all my efforts to 
soothe and delay. I coaxed and cajoled, unsaid 
some sharp words, and stroked the angry waves 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


143 


the right way, till they took off their white caps 
which they had put on defiantly, and obeyed my 
orders like good boys. Then I laid hold of the 
boat, and drew it along toward the Island. It 
seemed a pity the children shouldn’t go there 
since they had set their hearts upon it; and, 
beside, I did not. dare to take them home, for 
there was the Tide growling savagely, and ly¬ 
ing in wait on the beach ready to snap at little 
legs the moment they tried to jump out. 

” So I made for the Island. This was precise¬ 
ly what the Browns wished; and they hurrahed 
louder than ever as they drew near. The excite¬ 
ment became so great I could hardly keep 
them in the boat. The moment it touched, out 
they tumbled, big and little, Reggy head over 
heels, and ]STora so nearly in the water that, to 
save her, I had to let go my hold of the boat; 
whereupon two artful little billows rushed up, 
and before I could say 'Jack Robinson’ had 
snatched it out of reach, and were tossing it on 
their heads with peals of laughter. I was vexed 


144 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


enough, but there was no help for it. The 
Browns were prisoners, and must stay on the 
Island whether they liked it or not. 

" But, bless you! there was no question of 
liking! Nothing so enchanting had ever hap¬ 
pened before, the children thought. I looked to 
see them disappointed at the non-appearance of 
elephants and tigers, — but not at all! Up and 
down they raced, on the beach, in the woods, 
full of fun, and making discoveries qf all sorts. 
In less than two hours Reginald and Jack had a 
heap of fir-cones higher than their heads, ? for a 
fire ’ they said, only unfortunately there were no 
matches to light it with. Alice and Emmy had 
filled their aprons with shells and pebbles, Nora 
was deep in a sand pudding, and Baby Tom 
had twice been fished from a pool as wet as a 
frog, and set up in the sun to dry. All were as 
busy as bees, and not a doubt or fear had so far 
arisen to mar their pleasure, - - j 

"But at last it began to grow late, and the 
sun was dropping down the sky into a dark 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


145 


cloud, which lay ready to catch and carry him off. 
The little ones felt hungry, and began to talk 
about supper. 

"' What shall we have? ’ they asked. 

" Reggy looked important. He took from his 
pocket a book. It was the very one I told you 
of, — the one about the Island. Reggy usually 
had it in his pocket. 

”' Let us see, 5 he said, and read aloud, — 

"'We put some of the soup-cakes with water 
in our iron pot, and placed it over the flame ; 
and my wife, with little Francis for scullion, 
took charge of peppering the dinner. 5 

" ' Me don’t like pepper, 5 said Baby, in a dis¬ 
consolate voice. 

"' Not " peppering, 55 — 'preparing] corrected 
Emmy, over Reginald’s shoulder. ' Baby shan’t 
have any bad pepper. Brother didn’t read 
right.’ 

"'We haven’t got any iron pot,’ suggested 
Alice. 

"'Nor any soap-cakes,’ said Nora. 


146 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


" ' /SW^-cakes, little goose! ’ cried the discom¬ 
fited Reggy. 'Nobody eats soap. Well, then, 
we must think of something different. Let’s 
see what else these people had.’ And he read 
again, — 

"'We sat down to breakfast, some biscuits 
and a cocoa-nut full of salt butter being placed 
on the ground. We toasted our biscuit, and 
while it was hot applied the butter, and con¬ 
trived to make a hearty meal.’ 

"' Bully! ’ cried Jack. ' Buttered toast is first- 
rate ! ’ 

"' But there isn’t any butter,’ said Emmy. 

"'Nor any biscuit,’ added Alice, timidly. 

"' I declare,’ shouted Reggy, closiug the book 
with a flap, ' how in the world is a fellow go¬ 
ing to get supper for you as long as you keep 
standing round telling him there’s nothing to 
eat! ’ 

" This made me laugh so, that I had to run 
behind a bush to have it out. When I came 
back, the dispute had been made up, and the 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


147 


children were all setting off in a body along 
the beach to ' look for a shipwreck. 5 

"' There ’ll be a barrel, or something, 5 asserted 
Reggy: ' there always is! 5 

"Then I know what I hope will be in it, 5 
shouted Jack, with a caper. 

"'What? 5 

"' Molasses candy and fire-crackers. 5 

" Now it happened that I was aware of a box 
drifting about half a mile out or so; and, though 
I hadn’t the least idea of its contents, it struck 
me it might please the children. So I flew out, 
and pushed it in. There was an immense uproar 
as it came floating nearer and nearer. The 
moment it could be reached, the two boys 
splashed in, grappled it, and with loud hurrahs 
dragged it ashore. 

"' Ting-a-ling ! ting-a-ling ! 5 sang Emmy, 
rapping the lid with her knuckles. ' Come to 
supper! Tea’s ready! Don’t you hear the 
bell? 5 

"' Where 5 s the hammer, Em? 5 asked Reggy. 


148 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


" ' I don’t know. Have we got any? ? 

" ' Why, didn’t you put one in your pocket ? ’ 
demanded Jack, in an indignant voice. 

Jack! A hammer in my pocket! It wouldn’t 
half go in. Just look! ’ And she turned inside 
out a small muslin triangle, and exhibited some 
crumbs, one raisin, and a pocket handkerchief 
far from clean. 

"Well, that’s too bad!’ cried Jack. 'She’s 
forgotten every thing, Reggy, — the fish-hooks, 
the nails, the ball of string, the screw-driver, 
the — I don’t believe she’s even so much as 
brought a needle. Have you, Emmy?” 

"'No: I didn’t know we were coming, you 
see,’ replied Emmy, in an apologizing tone. 

" ' Never mind,’ said Reginald, good-naturedly, 
as Jack gave an indignant snort. ' Emmy ought 
to have remembered, of course, because she’s 
the "Mother” of the party, and the one to 
bring the " miraculous bag.” But to-morrow 
or next day there ’ll be sure to be a wreck, 
and lots of nice things come ashore, which 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


149 


will do just as well. So now let’s get this 
fellow open. 5 

" It was not an easy job. However, what 
with stones, and a sharp stick, the lid was at 
last pried off, and a quantity of damp sawdust 
revealed. 

"The children poked and poked. At last 
Alice hit upon something hard. 

"' Perhaps it’s a " Westphalia ham,” 5 she said. 
No! it was a bottle,. 

"It had no label; but Reggy knocked the 
top off against a stone, and took a mouthful. 

"'Ph-shewP he splqttered, and spit it out 
again. 

What is it? 5 cried the rest. 

"*Horrid! salt! 5 cried Reggy, making dread¬ 
ful faces. f It ’a that stuff Papa takes sometimes 
before breakfast, — I forget the name. 5 

" 5 " Saratoga water ” ? 5 said Alice, sniffing it 
daintily, and applying her tongue. "So it is. 
Well, that’s real mean! I didn’t suppose 
medicines and such things ever came ashore 
on Desert Islands! 5 


150 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


"It was clearly impossible to make a meal 
of ' Saratoga water. 5 So, hungry and slow, 
the party went back to the grove. 

"' I ’ll tell you what,’ said Reginald, ' the 
first thing in the morning we ’ll catch a buffalo 
or a wild ass, and tame him. Luckily I’ve a 
piece of string in my pocket, so we can " pierce 
his nostrils,” and put it in. Then I ’ll gallop 
round to the other side of the Island, you know, 
and find things.’ 

"' I want my supper,’ wailed Nora, who was 
too tired and hungry to be consoled with this 
distant prospect of a wild ass. 

"Tom began to cry too; and for a while the 
older ones were at their wits’ end to comfort 
them. Some blueberries which they found had 
the desired effect at last; and, cuddled in their 
sisters’ laps, the little creatures fell asleep. The 
whole party nestled together in a mossy place 
in the woods. The waves on the beach began 
to sound hollow and mournful. Alice shuddered 
a little. 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


151 


"' Please hold my hand tight, Peggy/ she 
said. 

"'Oh dear!’ sighed Emmy. 'Was that a 
drop of rain on my nose? I do-believe it’s going 
to sprinkle! And we haven’t any umbrellas.’ 

"' What did the people in the book do when 
it sprinkled?’ asked Reginald. 'Or didn’t it 
ever sprinkle there ? ’ 

"' Only in the "rainy season,” ’ replied Emmy; 
' and then they shut themselves up in a cave. It 
must be nice to have " rainy seasons,” and know 
just what to expect. Here, it just rains when¬ 
ever it likes, and catches you! ’ 

"Ho more drops came, however; and before 
long sleep fell upon the group. So sound were 
their slumbers that when, some hours later, a 
horned creature stuck his head through the 
bushes, and then retreated with a loud bellow, 
nobody stirred except Reginald. He, half- 
awake, started up, muttering drowsily, ' There’s 
the buffalo: we’ll fix him to-morrow.’ But the 
noise died away; and he tumbled down again, 
and was asleep in a minute. 


152 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


" Soon after the flapping of sails reached 
my ear, and I ran down to the beach. Sure 
enough, a white sail like a ghost was gliding 
rapidly toward the Island. It was a boat. On 
the deck was Mr. Brown, looking wild and 
ghastly, — quite unlike his usual jolly, com¬ 
fortable self. 

There isn’t half a chance,’ he muttered as 
he sprang ashore. He went questing up and 
down with a lantern. I followed, whispering 
comforting things in his ear; but he never 
listened. At last he lighted on Emmy’s pocket- 
handkerchief lying beside the smashed box. 

"'It’s hers!’ he cried, trembling with anxiety. 
' Search for the boat, men.’ 

" But no boat could be found, and the Father 
groaned aloud. 

" Meantime I was gently pulling Mr. Brown, 
now by the collar and now by the coat-tail, and 
trying to. turn him in the right direction. He 
was frantic and obstinate, as men usually are; 
so he would not follow. At last, as hope grew 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


158 


less, his strength seemed to go too; and, little 
by little, I drew him along to where the children 
lay. He was almost upon them before he knew 
it. There they were, fast asleep, — Tom in 
Alice’s lap, and Nora hugged tight in Jack’s 
arms. 

" Well, you never saw any one behave as Mr. 
Brown did. He was like a crazy person. He 
felt the warm little hands and the round cheeks, 
as if he couldn’t believe his eyes; and made 
inarticulate sounds over them, like some loving 
dumb animal. The sailors lifted them, still asleep, 
and wrapped them warmly; but, just as they 
were moving off, Jack roused. There was a 
stamping, bellowing sound in the brush-wood 
near by. 

"' There’s the buffalo again ! ’ he cried. ' Catch 
him, Peggy! ’ Then, waking more completely, 
' Why, it’s Papa ! O Papa, don’t let’s leave 
the buffalo behind ! ’ 

w ? Buffalo! ’ said one of the men. ' There’s 
no buffalo, sir. That’s one of Farmer New- 


154 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


man’s cows. He pastures them here in the 
summer.’ 

" Reggy was the next to wake. ' Oh, it’s 
the savages!’ he exclaimed. 'They’ve got us! 
Why, Papa, is it you? y 

" Alice and Emmy roused at his cry, to be 
first frightened, then charmed, to find themselves 
under their Father’s care. Before long the whole 
party were awake, and lively as crickets. 

'" Only think, Emmy, I thought it was a buf¬ 
falo, and it’s only a cow! ’ concluded Jack. 

"'Cows!’ shuddered Alice. 'Were there 
any cows on the Island? O Papa, I’m so 
glad you came for us! I should have been so 
scared!’ 

"' Why, Alice ! ’ cried Reginald. ' Afraid! 
when you know you said you wanted to have 
a rhinoceros come, or at least an anaconda.’ 

"'Oh well!’ replied Alice, 'I wouldn’t have 
minded them; but I’m afraid of cows ! ’ 

" I wasn’t quite easy all the way across. The 
Sea had evidently got his back up, and I didn’t 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


155 


know but he might yet break out at any moment, 
and do some dreadful mischief to the Browns. 
All went well, however; and just in the faint 
gray of morning the boat scraped the sand, 
where stood, dimly seen, a waiting figure. It 
was poor Mrs. Brown, who, all that dreadful 
night, had stood there listening, and looking off 
to sea. 

"' All right, Mother ! ’ called out Mr. Brown, 
in a joyful, husky voice. 

"But Mrs. Brown could not speak. When 
her husband laid little Tom in her arms, and she 
felt his warm touch, she began to cry. The 
others crowded about her, she hugged them 
tight, kissed the up-turned faces without a word, 
and led them into the house, still crying for joy. 

" I had a frog in my own throat, I can tell 
you,” continued September, " so glad was I to 
see them safe at home again. But the Sea was 
growling at my heels* in a surly way, which 
aggravated me; so that, there being no longer 
any reason for keeping the peace, I just went at 


156 


THE DESERT ISLAND. 


him, and relieved my feelings by one of the 
fiercest quarrels we ever had. For a week we 
fought like giants. We tossed ships and light¬ 
houses at each other, and filled the world with 
fear. The people on the coast still talk about 
it, and call it the great September gale. Though 
why September, I don’t know. I’m sure it was 
a great deal more Ocean’s fault than mine! ” 

" Oh ! ” said Thekla, drawing a long breath, 
" I ’m so glad the children got safely to land.” 

"So am I,” said September, dryly. "There 
were a good many grown people who didn’t, I 
can assure you.” 



“A book of adventures the Brown children were for ever poring over.’* 









CHAPTER X. 


NIPPIB NUTCRACKER. 

THINGS went better after this visit of Septem¬ 
ber’s. Cool nights began. The noons were still 
hot, but with a different heat. Something of life 
and freshness breathed in the air. Thekla’s wheel, 
set out under the spreading boughs of an oak- 
tree, hummed as it turned, like a great bumble¬ 
bee. It had been silent of late, as if languid 
with August’s warmth. Now its voice came back, 
and it sang merrily as ever. Leaf-shadows fell 
from overhead, dappling the fair hair of the 
little spinner, and the fleece of the lamb which 
lay at her feet. "Lamb” it was still called, 
though fast getting into sheephood. Thelda 
had a real motherly feeling toward it; and, as 


158 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


parents go on calling their boys and girls the 
children ” when gray hairs and wrinkles have 



Miss N. Nutcracker, the Celebrated Philosopheress, will lecture at Beech-tree Hall.”' 





NIPPLE NUTCRACKER. 


159 


replaced the curls and roses of youth, so the 
lamb was likely to remain a lamb in her eyes 
for ever, should it live to become a patriarch of 
the flock. 

One thing only marred the pleasure of this 
happy month, — the dear old Grandfather was 
poorly. "Without disease or pain, patient al¬ 
ways, gentle, even happy, his strength ebbed 
daily. Some days he would not rise from his 
bed at all; on others, he would have his oaken 
chair drawn out into the sunshine near Thekla’s 
wheel, and would sit there for hours basking in 
the warmth, and regarding the little girl with 
fond, wishful eyes. Thekla took tender care of 
him. Love showed her how. Love is a wise 
instructor, you know; and teaches in six lessons 
what Time, slow old pedagogue, takes a life¬ 
time to impart. 

As the end of September drew near, Grand¬ 
father seemed a little brighter; and, in her great 
wish to please and cheer him, a queer idea 
popped into Thekla’s head. It was nothing less 


160 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


than to tell him all about the Months and the 
moments, and let him join the story-listening 
group. She consulted Max; and he thought it 
a capital plan, provided October made no objec¬ 
tions. 

So Thekla told the tale in her pretty, soft 
voice; and Grandfather nodded his head a great 
deal, and smiled, and was well pleased. How 
much he understood is doubtful; — Old Age 
was singing its sweet lullabys to the weary 
brain, and it was fast going to sleep, though now 
and then it flashed again into wakefulness for a 
few moments. Thus much he comprehended, — 
that a visitor was coming, and he must be ready. 
So Thekla smoothed his white hair, and made 
him neat; and when October appeared at the 
door, there sat Grandfather between the chil¬ 
dren, like a snow-covered bough supported by 
two ripe roses. 

Max and Thekla flew to meet the guest, and 
to whisper their request, to which he listened 
with a kindly face, pinching each round cheek 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


161 


gently meanwhile till it glowed with a fresher 
pink. When they ended, he smiled, well- 
pleased. 

” Yes, indeed,” he said: ” the Grandfather shall 
stay. He is my old friend. I knew him when 
he was no bigger than you, and he knew me. 
But then the time came, as it will to you, when 
he saw without seeing, and I was to him but a 
name. To the very young and the very old 
only am I visible; for they are children alike. 
He will know me at once, be sure of that.” 

So saying, he walked in, sat down close by 
the oaken chair, and laid his hand on Grand¬ 
father’s arm. The old man turned slowly, and 
a look of recognition crept into his dim eyes. 

w Catch ! Carl, catch ! ” he murmured. 
w Where’s the basket ? There never were so 
many beech-nuts on the tree before.” 

" That was the other boy,” explained October, 
in a whisper. w They always went about to¬ 
gether. But it’s a long time since I saw 
him .” 


162 


NIPriE NUTCRACKER. 


The children stood silent, watching the strange 
smiles which chased each other over Grand¬ 
father’s lips. Now, too, they could look at 
October, and see what manner of person he was. 
He had the brown, bearded face of a man in his 
prime; but the hair was grizzled with gray. 
There was something fatherly in the eyes, which 
were blue and merry. His hunter’s dress — of 
scarlet, gold, russet, crimson, and orange — was 
so gay that it would have seemed fantastic ex¬ 
cept for the grace with which he wore it. A 
spray of purple leaves nodded in his cap; a horn 
swung at his side, and beneath it a great pouch 
of fur into which he now plunged his hand. 

" Do you like chestnuts ? ” he said, throwing a 
double handful into Thekla’s lap. "Ah! I see 
you do. That’s right ! I always carry them 
about with me for the children. And I always 
say, 'Don’t crack nuts with your teeth;’ and 
they always do it, just the same as if I hadn’t 
spoken, as Max is doing now.” 

"What is that in your bag?” asked Max, 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


163 


boldly, pointing to a great sack which October 
had thrown down on entering. 

"Samples,” replied October, briskly. "You 
see, I belong to a firm of dyers, — a celebrated 
one, — 'Brown October & Co.’ These are our 
novelties for the season. Look ! ” And, seizing 
the bag by the bottom, he shook out upon the 
floor what seemed to be rainbows in confusion, 
— a vast heap of brilliant scraps, so vivid and 
so various that nobody could count the different 
tints. 

" Two billion . new shades,” went on October, 
triumphantly; " all patented, warranted to wash, 
and unlike any thing seen in the shop last year. 
"Where is the mortal dyer, outside our firm, who 
can say that ? ” Then he began cramming the 
samples into the bag again. When order was 
restored, he turned toward Grandfather’s chair, 
and said in a gentle voice, "Would you like to 
hear one more story from me, old friend, before 
you and I part for ever ? ” 

Grandfather nodded his head. "You used to 


164 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


tell nice ones to Carl and me,” he answered. 
" One more i one more l ” 

So October began: — 

" It’s about squirrels. People generally don’t 
appreciate squirrels. They overlook them en¬ 
tirely, or else they make pies of them, which is 
unjust and disagreeable. 

" I know them well, so they talk freely 
before me, and let out their secrets, which 
people never do until they are intimate. All 
the best circles of squirreldom are open to me; 
and the Nutcrackers, who are perhaps the most 
aristocratic family in the set, are my particular 
friends, and have been for generations. 

"It is about Nippy Nutcracker that I am 
going to tell. It is a true story; and I hope it 
may be a warning to you, Thekla, and to other 
young females of your age. 

" Nippy, in her earliest squirrelhood, was one 
of the prettiest creatures I ever saw. In those 
days she spelt the name 'Nippie,’ and had it 
thus engraved in monogram on the birch-bark 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


165 


cards she was in the habit of leaving at the nests 
of her acquaintances. Later, she changed it 
again to plain 'Nippy;’ and the other squirrels 
agreed it was just as well she should, — for 
reasons. 

"A fashionable belle of the first water was 
Nippie, — slender, graceful, bewitching, — with 
a most beautiful long tail, which she put up in 
hot pine-needles every night, and fluffed out in 
the morning till it stood like a glory round 
her head when she waved it. And this she did 
very often, especially when desirable bachelor 
squirrels were about. All the Nutcrackers were 
beside themselves with pride over the possession 
of this lovely creature. Distinguished suitors 
came from far and near, bringing such gifts of 
beech-nuts, acorns, and toothsome walnut-meats 
all picked out of the shells, that Nippie’s bower 
used to look like a provision-market. But to 
none of her lovers did she give any encourage¬ 
ment; for her secret heart was set upon King 
Nutcracker, the chief of her tribe. 


166 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


” This mighty monarch was getting on in 
years; but he possessed great gallantry of man¬ 
ner, and had been heard to say that never within 
his experience did so lovely a vision as Miss 
Nutcracker alight on earthly bough. This speech 
fired Nippie’s ambitious heart: which was un¬ 
lucky; for, as it happened, King Nutcracker 
already possessed a spouse, of his own age, to 
whom, in spite of his fine speeches, he was at 
bottom quite devoted. They lived in the top 
of a royal oak, their children occupying neigh¬ 
boring branches; and, as each year some eight 
or ten fresh princes and princesses entered the 
world, the family circle, as can be imagined, was 
a large one. 

w The Queen was plain and old-fashioned. 
She never curled her tail, and thought hot pine- 
needles absolutely sinful. But she had a resolute 
character and great strength of constitution; and 
did not feel the least desire to die and make 
room for Nippie, if she could possibly help it. 
All things considered, therefore, the chance did 


NIPPLE NUTCRACKER. 


167 


not seem very good. But Nippie clung to hope. 
Queen Nutcracker, she reflected, must drop off 
some day; and the King would naturally look to 
the fairest as her successor. 'Queen Nippie’ 
sounded well; — she would refurnish the royal 
nest, and astonish society. It was worth wait¬ 
ing for. So she waited. 

" One year — two, three, four. Lovers came, 
and went; Nippie snubbing them all right 
royally. Still Queen Nutcracker lived and 
flourished; and still every spring eight or ten 
lovely princes and princesses appeared to swell 
the popidation of the royal oak. Five years — 
six. Nippie’s resplendent tail began to look 
thin, and a little worn. Hot pine-needles are 
very bad for tails, they say. She lost a front 
tooth; her nose grew sharp; and her figure, 
once so graceful, was now painfully thin. 
Suitors became weary of the Nutcracker beech, 
and the few who showed themselves were mere 
children, on the look-out for some younger Nut¬ 
crackers who were growing up. Nippie felt 


168 


NIPPIF, NUTCRACKER. 


that her day was past; that the sun was ceasing 
to shine, and her hay not made; and, as the con¬ 
viction forced itself upon her mind, her temper 
waxed horribly uneven. She took to shutting 
herself into her hole, and having nervous attacks; 
and when these were on, she would say the 
sharpest and most disagreeable things to her 
nearest relations. 

" This of course did not add to the happiness 
of the family. Her nephews and nieces — full 
of spirits, and selfish, like all young creatures — 
pronounced her in private ' a dreadful old cat/ 
and took pleasure in teasing her, laughing at her 
little airs and graces, and alluding to her age in 
the most unfeeling way. Even her brothers and 
sisters, tired out by her tantrums, did not stand 
up for her as they ought. So life seemed pretty 
hard to poor Nippie; and there were moments 
when she wished herself made into pie, and an 
end put to every thing. 

"But this was during the betwixt-and-between 
period which comes to everybody some time or 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


169 


other. For Nippie was not the sort of squirrel to 
settle down into insignificance without at least 
making a good fight for herself. She had failed 
as a beauty; but it was still possible to succeed 
as something else. She was not long in deciding 
what this should be. She would become c strong- 
minded.’ 

" Her first step was leaving off the ' ie ’ from 
her name. Nicknames, she declared, especially 
those ending in ie, were silly and affected. As 
she had been privately spoken of as ' Nip ’ for 
some time past among her young relations, no 
one made the least objection to the change. So 
Nippie the belle became plain Nippy; and soon 
after, to the astonishment of her friends, beech- 
leaves began to circulate about, bearing the name 
of ' Dr. Nutcracker,’ and it was announced that 
Nippy had adopted the practice of medicine. 

" This, however, was another failure, and did 
not last long. Nippy began in a small way with 
a remedy of her own invention, which she called 
'acorn-water,’ and which consisted of portions 
of a neighboring brook upon which the shadow 


170 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


of an acorn had been allowed to lie for two hours 
and twenty minutes by the sun. But most of 
the squirrels laughed at the new medicine, and 
declared that it did them no good; while the 
few who believed injured the water almost as 
much, by calling it dangerously strong. At last 
one very nervous old lady, Mrs. Hopper by name, 
was thrown into a fit by finding out, two days 
afterward, that she had by mistake swallowed 
half a drop more than the right dose; and after 
that nobody dared to try any more. So, upon 
the whole, Nippy decided not to be a Doctress, 
but something else. She took a week to think 
it over, and then startled the whole community 
by the following placard: — 

Miss N. Nutcracker, 
the Celebrated Philosopheress, 
will lecture at Beech-tree Hall 
on Thursday, at 5 p.m. precisely. 

Subject: 

“ Why should not Squirrels lay Eggs?” 

Admission, 25 beech-nuts. 

Reserved seats, 2 acorns. 

Children, half-price. 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


171 


” Nothing can describe the excitement caused 
by this announcement, which was inscribed on a 
huge moose-wood leaf, and pinned with thorns 
to the royal oak. No lady-squirrel had ever 
before appeared on a public platform, and all the 
old fogies felt that it was the beginning of great 
changes. Everybody wanted to go, however, 
especially when the King sent down a servant 
with both cheeks stuffed full of acorns, and 
engaged the best seats for himself and party. 
When the hour came, there was hardly standing- 
room left on the Nutcracker beech. Nippy took 
her station on the top bough, with the utmost 
dignity of manner. There was nothing left of 
the flirting, foolish ways of the ex-belle. Her 
poor thin tail was screwed tightly into a French 
twist. She wore a plain gray gown, and black 
gloves. She had practised speaking with her 
mouth full of nuts so long, that every word she 
uttered could be heard distinctly; and I assure 
you her audience listened with both eyes and 


ears. 


172 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


«I’m sorry that I cannot remember the lec¬ 
ture,” continued October; "for it was very fine. 
Nippy took the ground that as squirrels live in 
trees, and so do birds; — and as squirrels make 
nests, and so do birds; — and as squirrels have 
tails, and birds the same, — so it was the duty 
of squirrels to lay eggs, just as much as it was 
the duty of birds. Everybody applauded and 
agreed, but didn’t very well know how to do 
any thing more about it. So, after all, the 
lecture produced no practical result, except by 
making a great deal of talk. 

"But this was precisely what Miss Nutcracker 
wished. She felt that her enterprise was suc¬ 
ceeding, and that a glorious future lay before 
her. Other lectures followed. There was one 
on ' Food; ’ one on ' What to do with the 
Shells?’ another on 'Hygiene’ (which the aver¬ 
age squirrel persisted in calling ' High Jinks,’ 
and treating accordingly) ; and a fourth on ' The 
New Departure,’ which meant the removal of 
the Nutcracker tribe to another tree, with more 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


173 


nuts on it. But the most famous lecture of all 
was announced to be 'for ladies only/ and its 
subject was 'The Wrongs of Squirrelesses.’ 

" Nippy told her audience (which they had not 
known before) that they had always been abused 
and unhappy. She reminded them with great 
eloquence how the largest nuts were apt to fall 
to the lot of the male squirrels, who were usually 
up and at work early of mornings, while their 
wives slept; how fathers of families were apt 
to go sky-larking off into the woods, leaving 
their partners at home with nests full of little 
ones; how they came back late at night and 
disturbed the house; and many other things. So 
pathetic was the picture that, before the lecture 
ended, most of the company were in tears. The 
gentlemen, who had been sitting in distant trees 
meanwhile, trying to look as if they didn’t know 
that any thing was going on, but secretly wild 
with curiosity, were confounded when, at the 
end of the discourse, all the squirrelesses came 
trooping home slowly and sadly, with tails in 


174 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


their eyes, and not a skip or bound among 
them. That night nothing but sobs and recrimi¬ 
nations were heard among the boughs. Even 
the royal oak caught the infection. The princes 
and princesses were disputing and scolding right 
and left; and nobody kept their good humor 
except the sensible old Queen, who had refused 
to attend the lecture. 

Shut up, and go to sleep ! ’ she exclaimed at 
last. 'You are a parcel of nonsensical fools. 
Since I became a squirrel I never heard of any 
thing so ridiculous; and if I had my way, that 
Nippy Nutcracker should be made into a fric¬ 
assee by noon to-morrow, before she has time 
to do more mischief.’ 

"But vainly did the royal dame utter her 
homely wisdom. Nippy, sporting in unfricasseed 
freedom, with the whole range of social abuses 
before her, was more than a match for the aged 
Queen, to whom nobody listened for a moment. 
The next week the lecture was ' Repeated by 
Request.’ Others followed, of a still more dan- 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


175 


gerous character; such as, 'Frisk in Fetters,’ 
and ' Why are Incisors granted to Both Sexes?’ 
A dreadful little ballad was composed, and sung 
by the strong-minded, whose number became 
daily larger and more formidable. I remember 
only a fragment, but it gives an idea of the 
whole: — 

‘ Who would stay and mind her young, 

Who would gladly hold her tongue, 

Who before her lord be dumb, 

Let her turn and flee. 

‘ Let her turn in cage of tin, 

Clattering with revolving din ; 

Grazing fur and grazing skin, 

Good enough for she J ’ 

" The grammar,” said October, " is defective, 
you observe. But that is little. Grammar and 
all other rules are defied by the strong-minded, 
— when they happen to be squirrels. 

"This was last autumn. Just as I left, a 
lecture was announced upon ' The Royal 
Family an Excrescence ! ’ What the state of 
affairs may be now I do not know, and I dare 


176 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


not guess. I confess that it is with reluctance 
that I return to the grove. From what I know 
of Miss Nutcracker, it would not surprise me to 
find all the old pleasant state of things changed, 
the King and Queen in exile, a Republic pro¬ 
claimed, and Nippy at the head of affairs as 
Provisional Governess ! ” 

Grandfather had been as much entertained 
at the story as any one. Listening, his face 
grew young again, his laugh mingled with the 
merry peals from Max and Thekla, and was 
almost as gay in sound. But, as October drew 
to a close, he seemed to become weary; and, 
when the last words were spoken, they looked 
at him, and he was fast asleep. 

"Better so,” whispered October. "He will 
miss me less.” 

In silence he measured his moments from the 
can; silently bent over the white head, and 
touched it with his lips; and on tiptoe stole 
from the room. 

The children followed noiselessly. 


NIPPIE NUTCRACKER. 


17T 


w That story didn’t really have any end, did 
it?” said Thekla, when they were outside. 

w No,” replied October, ” there is no use trying 
to put ends to things which have Nippy Nut¬ 
crackers mixed up with them.” 



“ A fashionable belle of the first water was Nipple.’ 9 


12 




CHAPTER XI. 


" CHUSEY.” 

WHEN the children stole back again into the 
hnt after October had gone, Grandfather was 
still asleep. But before long he roused himself 
suddenly, rubbed his eyes, and stared at them in 
a strange, bewildered way. 

w Where is Carl?” he said. w Has he hidden 
himself to plague me? I know he loves to tease, 
but this is too bad.” 

" Grandfather,” said Thekla, gently, w you are 
not quite waked up yet. It was only a dream! 
There is nobody here but Max and me.” 

The old man looked wildly at her for a mo¬ 
ment. Then he came to himself, smiled, and 
stroked her hair. ” So,” he said, ” only Max and 


“CHUSEY.” 


179 


you, Liebchen! Well, it was a nice dream while 
it lasted; and now I will go to bed.” 

So Grandfather went to bed. But neither the 



“‘We don’t want our Chusey killed — we don’t want him for dinner— we don’t 
like turkeys when they’re d-e-a-d,’ sobbed the children.” 














































180 


CHUSEY.” 


next day, nor the next, nor the next, did he rise; 
and soon it became an accepted fact that Grand¬ 
father did not care to get up any more. He had 
no pain, and smiled often ; but he seldom spoke, 
and when he did it was of old times, which seemed 
to be fresher to his mind than the things which 
were about him. Thekla moved her wheel in¬ 
doors, and sat where his eyes could rest upon her 
the moment he waked; while Max, laying aside 
all his boyish frisk and bounce, moved about the 
cottage with steps gentle as a girl’s. And so, 
quietly and rather sadly, the month wore away. 

The last evening proved a fierce and gusty 
one. Amid the pauses of the wind a soft whir¬ 
ring sound as of wings beating outside could be 
heard. It came from great heaps of rustling leaves 
driven against the cottage walls by the blast. ~No 
other noise broke the stillness, except the crack¬ 
ling of a pine fagot upon the fire, which filled 
the room with light and fragrance. Thekla and 
Max sat silently beside the blaze; — the Grand¬ 
father slept. It was so long since either had 


CHUSEY.” 


181 


spoken, that when at last a sharp knock fell 
upon the door both the children jumped from 
their seats. 

Max hastened to open, and to make a polite 
bow to the new-comer, while Thekla brought a 
chair. November, a rough looking personage in 
a gray pea-jacket and flapped hat, took it with¬ 
out ceremony, only saying, w All right,” in a gruff 
Voice. He seemed so big and strong that the 
boy and girl felt timid. They drew nearer each 
other, and were not sure exactly how to begin. 
But when November took off his hat, which he 
did pretty soon, the face he showed was a kind 
one, in spite of the rough beard and wild hair, 
which had evidently not been combed for years, 
if ever. It was a brown and weather-beaten 
face; but the eyes were full of that friendly light 
which children love, and the little ones no longer 
felt afraid. November looked at them for a 
moment from under his shaggy eyebrows, and 
then began fumbling with the knots of a red 
bandanna handkerchief in which something 
was tied up. 


182 


“CHUSEY.” 


" There! ” he said, when at last he got it open, 
" there ’s my present. It came from ever so far 
away, and a fine piece of work I had to keep it^ 
from being smashed on the road. It ’s all safe 
however, I believe, except the edges, which are 
a little chipped. But that ’s nothing. Get your 
knives and forks, young ones, and fall to.” 

This present was a pie, — a fine yellow pie, 
mottled with brown spots and baked in a red 
earthenware dish. Max and Thekla had never 
seen any thing like it before. It felt still warm 
from the oven; and smelt so delicious and spicy, 
that it was impossible to keep from eating it at 
once, as November urged them to do. So Max 
ran for two horn spoons; and, after a piece was 
laid aside for Grandfather, he and Thekla began 
to devour the rest. 

"Oh my! ” said Max, as he took his first bite, 

" isn’t it good? ” 

"Won’t you have a bit, sir?” asked Thekla, 
who was a polite little creature. 

"Bless you!—no,” replied November, who 


CHUSEY” 


18o 

looked highly pleased at the success of his gift. 
"I never eat ’em till the proper time comes, and 
that isn’t for three weeks yet. But I know an 
old lady who persists in making them all the 
year round, in season and out; and as I thought 
a pie would be something new, and a good thing 
to bring, I dropped in on the way here and stole 
one from her buttery. They were just whipping 
the cat for the theft as I came away.” 

"But wasn’t that wrong?” asked Max, with 
his mouth full of the pie. 

"Um! ” replied November, with a keen, funny 
look, " if I had squeezed it into a can now, 
and smashed it, perhaps it might have been 
called so!” 

Max blushed, and hung down his head. 

"Never mind,” went on November, more 
kindly. "We won’t discuss the point of our re¬ 
spective honesties, I think! But I must confess 
that we Months are not as conscientious as we 
should be. Every one of us steal something 
wherever we go; and the worst of it is, that we 


184 


“CHUSEY.” 


never bring what we steal back again. Heigho!” 
And he looked silently into the fire for some 
time. 

By this the last mouthful of pie had dis¬ 
appeared; and Thekla had carried off the dish 
and the spoons, and put them out of sight. 

"Was it good?” asked November, meeting 
her eye with a smile. 

"Very, very good,” she answered. "I never 
tasted any pies like it. Do you know what it is 
made of, sir?” 

" I believe,” said November, " the exact recipe 
runs thus: ' As little pumpkin as possible, and 
as much of every thing else as possible.’ But 
it’s no use your trying to make one. They 
don’t succeed anywhere except in that country 
on the other side the ocean, where this came 
from. There they have a knack at ’em.” 

"Oh, tell us about the other side the ocean!” 
cried the children. 

"I’m going to,” replied November. "That’s 
where my story happened. 


•‘CHUSEY.’ 


185 


" It was way out on the Western frontier — 
Do you know what a frontier is?” suddenly in¬ 
terrupting himself. 

No, the children did not know what a frontier 
was. 

"A frontier,” continued November, "is the 
edge of civilization; and rough and shaggy 
enough it is, as edges are apt to be. It is the 
.battle-ground where men and Nature meet and 
fight it out. Ah ! the men have hard times 
there, I can tell you. They have to turn to and 
use every bit of stuff that is in them, or they 
get the worst of the conflict. But Nature is a 
friendly foe. When she has proved them, she 
grows kind. The trees fall, the stumps come out 
of the ground. Every year the work done tells 
more and more; and the frontier is pushed 
farther and farther away. By and by there 
won’t be any frontier left, the whole land will 
be civilized; and people will have every thing 
they desire, — brick houses, churches, shops, 
ice-cream saloons, and copies of Tupper’s 
Proverbial Philosophy. 


186 


“ CHUSEY.’ 


” Well, I always visit this frontier as I go my 
yearly rounds; and it was there that I made 
acquaintance with Mrs. Fiske’s little children. 

w Four boys and girls there were, the eldest 
seven, the youngest not quite three; and none 
of them had ever seen other children except 
themselves. Their Mother was a sad, hard- 
worked woman; their Father, a rough, kind- 
hearted fellow, too busy to notice the little ones 
much, except now and then on a Sunday even¬ 
ing. So the children were left entirely to each 
other for amusement; and they seemed to find 
plenty of it, for a more merry, contented group 
I never saw. The rude hut in which they lived 
was beautiful in their eyes; and the forest, with 
its birds, berries, squirrels, and flowers, like a 
delightful playfellow. 

" The cabin was off the road for wagon trains: 
none ever came there. But now and then men 
on horseback, two or three together, would stop 
and ask for a meal or a night’s lodging. These 
were never refused in that hospitable wilderness. 


CHUSEY.” 


18T 


The children were glad when this happened; for 
the men talked about all sorts of interesting 
things, and brought newspapers, from which 
their Father read stories and anecdotes. But 
Polly, the eldest, a bright, observing girl, noticed 
that after these visits her Mother always looked 
sadder than before, and sometimes cried. 

Mrs. Fiske came from a State a long way off 
called Massachusetts. Some of her relations 
lived there still, and there was the old house 
where she had been born; but she seldom spoke 
of it or them. Perhaps she feared to make the 
children discontented with their lonely life by 
doing so; and it may be she was wise. 

" But the little ones picked up ideas here and 
there, and made a sort of play of ' Going to the 
East,’ where so many wonderful things were. 
They did not often tell their Mother of these 
plays: somehow they felt that it gave her pain; 
but when they were alone with their Father they 
would talk by the hour, asking questions, and 
chattering all together like a flock of small 


crows. 


188 


“CHXJSEY.” 


" One night a traveller, who was stopping with 
them, used a new word. 

"'I don’t know if Thanksgiving gets so far 
out as this,’ he said. 

" Mrs. Fiske only answered by a sigh; but her 
husband replied, 'Well, no ! We’ve had pretty 
hard times for a spell back; and we never see no 
newspapers so’s to know what day’s appointed, 
and so we’ve kind of let it slide. It ’$ a pity 
too, that’s a fact. Why, the kids here don’t 
even know what Thanksgiving means.’” 

"Kids?” asked Max, wonderingly. 

"He meant the children,” laughed November. 
" It’s rather a funny word, but some people use 
it; and as long as it tells what it means it’s a 
good word. The little Fiskes were used to it. 

"'Well,’ the traveller went on, 'you shan’t 
miss the Day this year for want of a paper any 
how. There’s the “ Democrat ” of week before 
last, with the Governor’s Proclamation and all. 
It’s the 29th you see, four weeks from to¬ 
morrow.’ 


CHUSEY.” 


189 


"'What does Thanksgiving mean?’ asked 
little Nanny, who was perched on the stranger’s 
knee. ' Tell us the ’tory about it.’ 

" So the traveller, who was a kind man, made 
quite a story to amuse the children. He told 
how, long ago, when the land was all wild woods 
in which only Indians lived, a shipload of Eng¬ 
lish people came across the sea, in the freezing 
winter, to make a home for themselves in the 
wilderness. How they suffered hunger, cold, 
and all sorts of hardships : and at last, after 
many months, housed their first harvest from 
a few scanty fields; and, in gratitude for this 
food which saved them from starvation, set 
aside a day to be spent in giving God thanks 
for it. And how, ever since, among their de¬ 
scendants, this day of Thanksgiving had been 
kept up, and solemnly observed every autumn 
after the gathering in of the crops. 

"Then he told them that in New England, on 
this day, all the sons and daughters come to the 
old homestead with their families; and how the 


190 


CHUSEY.’ 


long dinner-tables are set out with good things, — 
turkeys, pumpkin pies, cranberry sauce, and In¬ 
dian pudding. And then, last of all, he drew 
from his pocket a paper, and read aloud the 
Governor’s Proclamation, calling on all citizens 
to observe the 29th of November as Thanks- 
giving Day. 

" Before the stranger had finished the children 
were wild with excitement. But their Mother 
buried her face in her apron, and sobbed bitterly. 
That night, after the traveller had gone to bed, 
she talked more about her old home than ever 
she had done before, and told Polly a great 
many things of Massachusetts and its people. 

" All the next day the children could think 
of nothing but the stranger’s wonderful story. 
"Why couldn’t they have Thanksgiving too? 
they asked their Mother. The Governor said 
they might. 

"' But we haven’t any thing to keep it with,’ 
said Mrs. Fiske. 

"Oh, yes! there was one big squash left. 


CHUSEY.” 


191 


Wouldn’t Mother make some pies out of it for 
them ? 

w ' But there are no eggs, or ginger, or lemon- 
peel,’ answered -the poor, discouraged Mother. 

w However, the children begged so hard, that 
at last she said she would try to make some pies. 
But then Thanksgiving was nothing without a 
turkey. 

w ' Oh, if we only had a turkey!’ cried the 
little ones. 

"I happened to come by that day as they 
were talking; and it seemed to me rather a pity 
if, in a land full of turkeys, the Fiskes couldn’t 
have just one to make merry with. So I cast 
about in my mind for some way of securing a 
dinner for them. At last I found it. Forty 
miles off, through the woods, there lived a rich 
settler, who I knew kept turkeys. His wife had 
been lucky that year, and had raised a fine brood. 
There were at least twenty. 

” Among these was one little gobbler, a real 
vagabond by nature, who was always running 


192 


CHUSEY.” 


off into the forest. His drumsticks were rath¬ 
er toughish from being so much on his legs, 
but otherwise he was a good fat bird; and, as 
it was his evident fate to be lost some day, I 
thought my little friends might as well have the 
benefit of him as some wildcat or fox. So I 
watched my chance; and, catching him a long 
way from home, I headed him in the right direc¬ 
tion, and began to drive him toward the Fiskes’ 
cottage.” 

Here Thekla rose, and stole on tiptoe into 
Grandfather’s room; for she fancied that he 
called. But the old man slept peacefully, and 
she returned again quietly as she went. Novem¬ 
ber had paused in his story till she should come 
back. 

" Such a time as I had ! ” he resumed. ” The 
turkey seemed to know my intention, and to be 
resolved to spite me. Twenty times, at least, he 
got away, and, gobbling with joy, began to run 
toward home. Twice 1 rescued him from a fox, 
once dragged him from the very jaws of an 


“CHUSEY.” 


198 


opossum. Nothing but my love for the children 
induced me to go through the task; and I was 
glad and thankful enough when at last the 
journey was over, and we arrived safely at 
the clearing. 

" Little Zeke spied him first. ' Oh, what a big 
birdie ! ’ he cried, and made a rush at him. The 
turkey w r as too tired to run far, so in a few 
moments Zeke had him tied by the leg to a tree. 

Mother ! Polly ! Nanny ! Baby !’ he 
screamed. f Come and see what I’ve got ! ’ 
"All came flocking at the call. 'Why, it’s'a 
turkey! ’ exclaimed Mrs. Fiske, — ' and a real 
tame turkey, not a wild one at all ! ’ 

" It’s come for Thanksgiving ! ’ shouted Polly. 
' Hurrah ! hurrah ! now we ’ll have it for dinner.’ 
" c Gobble, gobble, gobble,’ said the turkey. 

"' Why, so we will, old fellow ! ’ replied Zeke. 
" By general consent the turkey was fastened 
in a corner of the kitchen, by a string round his 
leg. He thus became a part of the family. The 
children were very fond of him. They stuffed 
13 


194 


CHUSEY.” 


him all day long with bread-crumbs, doughnuts, 
bits of meat, and other dainties; so, though he 
missed his usual exercise, he was a happy and 
contented turkey, and soon grew so fat that Mrs. 
Fiske said he would make a splendid dinner. 

"' Massachusetts ’ was the name chosen for 
him, but it was shortened to ' Chusey ’ because 
that was easier. Before long he had become 
wonderfully tame. He would run to the end of 
his string to greet the family, when they came 
down in the morning; he ate from the children’s 
hands, and let the baby stroke and ruffle his 
feathers with her soft fingers as much as she 
liked. 

" Little did the poor fellow guess that the 
young friends whom he welcomed so gladly 
were already arranging among themselves how 
to divide the choice bits of his carcass. Zeke 
had spoken for one wish-bone, and Polly for the 
other; Nanny was resolute as to the possession 
of his tail; and Pop, the baby, was to have a 
drumstick to suck. All had requested large 


“CHUSEY” 


196 


helps of the breast and plenty of gravy. But, 
as time went on, the Mother noticed that this 
savory future was less talked about, and that 
Nanny and Polly were often to be seen patting 
the turkey’s back, and calling him ' Poor Chusey! 3 
in a pathetic manner. 

" At last the great day drew near. The pies 
were made,—rather singular as to looks, I con¬ 
fess, and a good deal more like porridge than 
pie, but not at all bad notwithstanding. Mrs. 
Fiske had picked some wild cranberries, and 
stewed them with maple sugar. A fine pile of 
mealy potatoes was chosen and washed. Noth¬ 
ing remained but to kill Massachusetts, and 
prepare him for the spit. 

”' I ’ll attend to it when I come home to¬ 
night,’ said Mr. Fiske. 

" So, when his work was done, he sharpened 
a hatchet, and brought it with him ready for 
the bloody deed. But, lo ! and behold, there 
on the floor were the four children, sitting 
round their beloved Chusey. They were all 


196 


“ CHUSEY.” 


crying; and, at the sight of his Father, Pop 
gave a shriek. 

"'Naughty, naughty!’ he said, and pushed 
with his little hands. ' Go ’way, Daddy, — go 
’way! ’ 

"' What’s the matter? ’ asked Mr. Fiske, very 
much astonished. 

"'We don’t want our Chusey killed — we 
don’t want him for dinner! ’ sobbed the children. 
'We love him so much! We don’t like turkeys 
when they ’re d-e-a-d ! ’ And again the baby 
broke in with, ' Go ’way, naughty! go ’way.” 

" ' Well, if ever I see the beat of that! ’ cried 
the Father. ' It did seem as if that turkey was 
sent a-purpose, and here you are cutting up like 
this! ’ 

" But the children would not listen to any 
objections. Chusey was their turkey, they said; 
they loved him, and he should not be eaten. 

"' He’s just as much right to Thanksgiving as 
we have,’ asserted Zeke. ' He’s " a citizen,” and 
we mean to give him some of the pie.’ 


CHUSEY.’ 


197 


"So the programme was suddenly changed. 
Instead of making a figure on the table, Massa¬ 
chusetts came to the table, and was one of the 
company. Tied to Pop’s chair, he was regaled 
with all sorts of choice morsels. The family 
dined on salt pork and venison, with cranberry 
sauce and pumpkin porridge; but, though the 
fare was rather queer, few happier dinners were 
eaten that day anywhere. Even Mrs. Fiske 
came out of her clouds, and was jolly. As for 
' Chusey,’ he gobbled and clucked and chuckled, 
enjoyed the jokes as much as any one, and 
seemed to enter fully into the spirit of the 
occasion.” 

" How nice that was ! ” said warm-hearted 
Thekla, as November ended. "I love the chil¬ 
dren for not eating Chusey.” 

"So do I,” replied November, heartily; "and 
this year I mean they shall have something very 
nice. It’s getting to be a little less frontier-like 
out there, and I think I see my way.” 

"Oh, tell us what ! ” cried Max. 


198 


CHUSEY. 


But Novemoer shook his head. w Never spoil 
your eggs by chipping the shells too soon,” said 
he. " I know how to keep a secret. And now 
let’s have that can of yours, and I ’ll take my 
moments; for I’m late, and must be off.” 

He tied the moments in the red bandanna 
handkerchief, shook hands in a friendly way, 
and without another word was gone. 

" Oh, isn’t he nice! ” said Thekla. 



“ Chusey came to the table, and, tied to Pop’s chair, was regaled with all sorts of 
choice morsels.” 









CHAPTER XII. 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 

And now the last evening of November was 
come; and Winter, stealing a march on the de¬ 
parting Autumn, let loose, as if in a hurry to 
begin, his first storm upon the world. Strong 
winds raged in the Forest, driving the leaves in 
clouds before them, and snapping and rending 
the patient, tortured trees. Ink-black clouds 
scared away the Moon, when she tried to shine; 
sharp sleet struck the windows of the Woodman’s 
hut, like a myriad of tiny fists; and the blast 
wailed and moaned about the chimney, like the 
voice of one in pain. 

Max and Thelda heard the uproar, and trem¬ 
bled, as they sat by the fire. Often before had 


200 HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS.- 

they listened to storms with a certain pleasur¬ 
able sense that home was rendered snugger by 



“ So the Cat told her story. ‘ And for a wish,’ she said, * if your Saintship 
would only permit me to slip in under your furs, and go along,’ — ‘ Why, jump in 
at once,’ said St. Nicholas. ” 

































HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


201 


the contrast. But now they shivered and clung 
together, and tears were in Thekla’s eyes as she 
nestled her head upon her brother’s shoulder. 
The kitchen did not wear its usual cheery look. 
And no wonder ! There was sorrow in the 
cottage ; for dear old Grandfather, who had 
loved them both so fondly, and been so loved 
in return, was gone away for ever! 

Only a week before he had died, quietly, pain¬ 
lessly, with a smile on his lips, and blessing them 
at the last. The far-away neighbors had assem¬ 
bled; and with pitying looks and kind words had 
taken the aged form, and laid it to rest beside 
other graves where slept the friends of his youth. 
But still, in spite of the lonely house and the 
vacant chair, Thekla could not feel that Grand¬ 
father was far away; and every hour she silently 
did this thing or that because it would once have 
» pleased him to have them done, and the thought 
that he still knew and was pleased comforted 
her. And perhaps Thekla was right in her 
innocent faith, for the friends we can no longer 
see may be nearer to us than we think. 


202 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. • 


When an old tree is blown down, all the deli¬ 
cate grasses and sweet herbs which cluster at its 
foot are uprooted by the shock. So it was with 
these two little human flowers. The fall of their 
sheltering friend tore them from their accus¬ 
tomed place. Already the neighbors had talked 
oyer and settled what the children must do. Max 
was to be bound apprentice to a clockmaker in 
the distant town, and Thekla to live with a farm¬ 
er’s dame who had offered to take and train 
her as a servant. The thought of parting was 
dreadful to them; and they had begged so hard 
and so tearfully to be allowed to stay together in 
the hut for a few weeks longer, —just till a new 
Ranger should take possession, — that at last, 
won by their distress, consent was given. There 
was wood and meal and vegetables enough in 
the cellar to keep them without expense to any¬ 
body. If the poor things liked to eat the stores 
themselves, instead of selling them, why it was 
a good plan, people said. So there the two sat 
on this stormy evening, alone in the lonely Forest, 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


203 


and expecting the arrival of December, last of 
that wonderful company who had made the year 
so strangely interesting. 

They had not long to wait. There came a 
lull in the wind, and far off in the distance a 
voice was heard raised in a commanding tone, 
and gradually drawing nearer. 

" There ! there ! ” were the first words they 
caught: "that will do. Leave the oaks alone, 
you rascals! Time enough for such pranks when 
I ’m gone. As for that hemlock, — winds will 
be winds, I know, and what’s done can never be 
undone; but don’t let me catch you at another.” 
Here the voice ceased; then there was a rattling 
at the latch, and next moment the door opened, 
and in came a tall figure leaning on a staff, but 
moving so lightly and easily that it suggested 
any thing rather than age or infirmity. 

This was December, a fine, stately man, dressed 
in white and green, with a fur cloak flung about 
his shoulders and a hat decked with holly sprigs. 
Age and youth seemed funnily contrasted in his 


204 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS.. 


face; for, while hair and beard were white as 
hoar-frost, the cheeks were like ripe winter- 
apples, and the blue eyes sparkled with fun and 
fire. He entered with a sort of jolly rush; but, 
when he saw Thekla’s black frock and the traces 
of tears upon her cheeks, his mood changed at 
once. Closing the door gently, he sat down 
before the fire, and, holding out his hand with 
an expression of indescribable kindness, said in 
a tone full of sympathy, "My poor children! ” 

That was all: but in another moment Thekla’s 
arm was round his neck on one side, and Max’s 
on the other; — he had drawn them on to his 
knees, and they were sobbing out their griefs 
as if they had known him always. They told 
how sorry they were to part, how lonely the 
cottage seemed, how forlorn it was to be poor 
and at the mercy of others; and December lis¬ 
tened, his eyes glistening with pity and his kind 
arms hugging them close. It was like having 
grandfather back again, the children thought. 

The new friend was wise. He did not inter- 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


205 


rupt or try to comfort till they had got quite 
through. It was wonderful what relief came 
just from telling all to somebody who cared to 
listen. By the time the story was over the boy 
and girl felt happier than for days; and not till 
then did December speak. 

" Courage ! ” he said. " It ’s always darkest 
just before day. Why, the Lord takes care of 
birds and cats and squirrels, of a whole world 
full of tiny winged creatures, and all the fishes 
of the sea. Do you suppose he will forget just 
you two, out of all the little ones whom he 
protects? Never! Why, I could tell you,— 
but I must not, it is not permitted, — only, 
even a Month may venture on a hint, and so I ’ll 
just say, wait, and see what’s ahead ! ” And 
December ended this mysterious sentence with 
pursing up his lips very tight, winking hard 
with both eyes, and nodding his head in a 
singular and provoking manner. 

"Oh, what?” cried the children. 

" I shan’t say another word,” replied Decern- 


206 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. . 


ber. "No! you needn’t look at me with such 
big, imploring eyes: it’s no use. But just you 
keep up brave hearts, and trust in God, — and 
you ’ll see! As for the Grandfather,” here his 
voice grew deep and solemn, like the sound of 
bells, " I know you miss him sorely; but don’t 
cry for him any more. He has gone where he 
is young again; and, when your turn comes to 
go too, you will wonder that ever you shed a 
tear because he was made so very happy.” 

December's face became beautiful as he spoke 
these last words, and Thekla stole the other arm 
tenderly about his neck. A glittering chain 
hung there, with pendants shaped like icicles. 
Touching it, she started, it was so very cold. 

" Is it made of ice?” she asked. 

"Well, you can call it so, if you like,” 
responded December, smiling ; " but I say 

' crystallized gases.’ It sounds better, I think. 

" I hope it won’t put you out,” he went on, 
" if I should ask leave to read my story, instead 
of telling it. I am so very, very old, you see,” — 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


207 


here his eyes twinkled with fun, — "that my 
memory is almost gone; and, unless I write 
things down, I am always forgetting them.” 
Whereupon he pulled a roll of paper from his 
pocket, and perching a pair of spectacles with 
tortoise-shell rims on his nose, very high up, 
looked from under them at the children in a 
comical manner. Thekla and Max could not 
help laughing. In spite of his white hair, it 
seemed somehow a great joke that December 
should call himself so very, very old. 

" It’s a cheerful kind of a story,” continued 
he. " I picked it out on purpose, for I guessed 
I should find you moping; and I thought some¬ 
thing lively would be good for you.” 

Thus speaking, December pushed the glasses 
up higher on his forehead, so as to be able to see 
well from beneath them, and began to read, — 

“How the-Cat kept Christmas.” 

"What a queer name for a story! ” said Thekla. 

"Yes; and it was a queer Cat too,” replied 


208 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. . 


December. "I knew her. Tortoise-shell, with 
long whiskers, and rather a ragged tail.” 

Then he went on. 

"The ringers were practising the Christmas 
chimes in low, muffled tones. High up, the 
steeple rocked in the wind, the clouds drifted 
rapidly over the moon, and clear and sharp the 
frost-film glittered on the roofs. The watchman 
on his round clapped and stamped to warm 
hands and feet, as he called the hour, 'Eight 
o’clock, and all’s well!’ But, to the poor Cat 
crouched beneath the kitchen-window, all was 
not well. 

"'Oh dear!’ she sighed to herself, 'what a 
thing it is to have a Step-mother! Once we were 
happy! The good Papa loved me, and I slept 
in Gretchen’s arms. The fire was bright in those 
days. Porringers of hot milk stood by it, and 
always a saucer full for me. Ah, dear days! 
The moment I saw that nose of hers, I knew 
they were over! Such a nose! so red, so long. 
Why did the Papa marry her ? Men are so fool- 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


209 


ish. I hissed, I spit, I warned, — nobody lis¬ 
tened, and here 1 am. The good Papa dares not 
protect me. Gretchen weeps: the Step-dame 
bars the door. Hew! what a wind,! What a 
Christmas Eve! Poor Gretchen! Poor me! ’ 
Overcome by her sorrows, the Cat gave a loud 
wail, which rang out into the chilly night. Then 
the door opened softly. 

"' Puss! puss! ’ said a small voice, ' where are 
you? ’ 

" Pussy ran forward into view, and jumped 
and leaped at her mistress. 

"' Oh, my Katchen,’ went on the little one, 
' how cold it is ! You will freeze ! you will die. 
Oh, if I dared but let you in! ’ 

"' I ’ll scratch her eyes out! ’ muttered the Cat. 

Shall I throw my little red shawl to you 
from the window?’ continued Gretchen. 'My 
poor one! my Kitty!’ 

"' Gretchen! ’ screamed a voice, ' if you let 
that good-for-nothing Cat into the house, you 
taste the stick! Dost hear?’ 


210 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. ‘ 


"Gretchen turned pale. 'O Kitty!’ was all 
she said. She gave a sob of despair. Then the 
door was shut. 

"'This is a nice business/ thought the Cat. 
' Oh, the witch! I hope the mice will come down 
to-night, and steal the very teeth out of her 
head. But I ’ll have vengeance yet. There’s 
that big gray rat in the cellar: I ’ll strike a bar¬ 
gain with him, — life and liberty, provided he 
plagues her to death, eats the linen, claws the 
jam, gnaws bung-holes in the cask, and lets 
the beer out! We’ll see! Meantime, I shall 
freeze unless something is done. Let me ex¬ 
plore.’ 

"High and low did the Cat search, — over the 
fence, under the vine, — but no shelter could be 
found. The vine was leafless, the fence gave no 
hiding-place. At last she bethought herself of 
the roof, which it was easy to mount by means 
of a long and sloping rain-trough. Perhaps 
there might be a warm chimney there, — no bad 
pillow on a wintry night. 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


211 


"There proved to be a warmish o*ne; and, 
curling into a ball, Pass laid herself to rest 
against it. Perhaps it was not warm enough, 
perhaps the remembrance of wrong was too bit¬ 
ter within her; certain it is she could not sleep. 
She wriggled, she twisted; she sent forth melan¬ 
choly cries, which rang strangely across the icy 
roofs as if some ghost afflicted with toothache 
had gone there for an airing. Nine—ten — 
eleven — had sounded before she fell into her 
first doze,—the clock was on the stroke of twelve, 
when a scraping and scratching sound close by 
roused her. Was it some other cat? or the big 
rat from the cellar, scaling the wall? Raising 
herself cautiously, after the manner of cats, she 
listened. 

"No: it was neither rat nor cat* Light hoofs 
as of goats were climbing the tiles, bells tinkled, 
a small sledge came in view. Swift as light it 
flew along, paused at the next chimney, and a 
little old man jumped out. His face shone in the 
moonlight like a jolly red apple, his fat body 


212 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHPJSTMAS. 


was wrapped in fur, on his back was a bag. 
Puss had never seen him before; but she knew 
him well. It was St. Nicholas, the patron saint 
of Christmas. 

"Down the chimney he went, with a motion 
like a bird’s; up again as fast. Then advan¬ 
cing, he searched in his bag. His kind face 
looked puzzled. The Cat saw his hesitation, 
and sprang forward. 

'"Well, Puss,’ said the Saint, 'what cheer ?’ 

"'Bad,’ said the Cat, no ways abashed at find¬ 
ing herself in such company. ' But never mind 
me, if only you ’ve something nice for Gretehen. 
Such a dear child, St. Nicholas, and such a step¬ 
mother ! Do put your hand in the pouch, and 
fetch out something pretty for her, — oh do! 
there’s a kind Saint ! ’ And she rubbed her soft 
fur coaxingly against his legs. 

"'Ah! a dear child and a step-mother, eh?’ 
said St. Nicholas. 'Let me look again. Cer¬ 
tainly! here’s something for Gretehen. — Wo- 
ho, reindeer! quiet a moment! ’ And down the 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


213 


chimney he whipped, a present in his hand, — 
what, the Cat couldn’t see. 

"Coming back, 'Now about yourself?’ he 
asked, gathering up the reins. ' What keeps you 
on the cold roof all night? Something must be 
done, you know: matters can’t be left this way. 
Wish a wish, if you have one. I’m in a humor 
for pleasing everybody while I’m about it.’ 

" So the Cat told her story. ' And for a wish,’ 
she said, ' if your Saintship would only permit 
me to slip in under your furs, and go along, I 
should be proud and happy. They look very 
warm and comfortable. I should sleep; or, if 
not, it would be most interesting to watch your 
Worship at work. And I take very little room,’ 
she added piteously. 

'"Is that all? Why, jump in at once,’ said 
kind St. Nicholas: ' there is room for forty cats 
like you. My sledge is never full. Ho! ho! it 
would be a pretty joke if it were!’ And he 
laughed a jolly laugh. 

"So Pussy jumped in. ' You must let me out 


ZL4 1I0W THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 

in the morning early/ said she, ' because Gret- 
chen will be anxious.’ 

w ' Oh, yes ! ’ replied the Saint, smiling queerly^ 
' I ’ll let you out in the morning. I’m like a bat, 
yon know, and never fly except by night.’ 

" Off they went, the magic stillness of the 
flight broken only by the tinkling bells. First 
one chimney, then another; bag after bag full of 
toys and sweets; here a doll, there a diamond 
ring, here only a pair of warm stockings. 
Everybody had something, except in a few 
houses over whose roofs St. Nicholas paused a 
moment with a look half sad, half angry, and 
left nothing. People lived there who knew him 
little, and loved him less. 

w Through the air, — more towns, — more 
villages. Now the sea was below them, the 
cold, moon-lit sea. Then again land came in 
sight, — towers and steeples, halls and hamlets; 
and the work began again. A wild longing to 
explore seized the Cat. She begged the Saint 
to take her down one specially wide chimney 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


215 


on his shoulder. He did so. The nursery with¬ 
in looked strange and foreign; but the little 
sleeping face in bed was like Gretchen’s, and 
Pussy felt at home. A whole bag full of pres¬ 
ents was left here. And then, hey! presto! they 
were off again to countless homes, — to roofs 
so poor and low that only a Saint would have 
thought of visiting them, to stately palaces, to 
cellars and toll-gates and lonely attics; at last to 
a church, dim, and fragrant with ivy-leaves and 
twisted evergreen, where their errand was to 
feed a robin who had there found shelter, and 
was sleeping on the topmost bough. How his 
beads of eyes sparkled as the Saint awoke him! 
and how eagerly he pecked the store of good 
red berries which were his Christmas present, 
though he had hung up no stocking, and evi¬ 
dently expected nothing. To small, to great, 
to rich and poor alike, the good Saint had an 
errand. Little ones smiled in their sleep as he 
moved by, birds in hidden coverts twittered and 
chirped, bells faintly tinkled and chimed as in 


216 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


dream, the air sent up incense of aromatic 
smells, flying fairies made room for the sledge to 
pass; the world, unconscious what it did, breathed 
benediction, and in turn received a blessing as 
it slept, — a Christmas blessing. 

"Off again. More sea, tumbling and tossed; 
then a great steamship, down whose funnel St. 
Nicholas dropped a parcel or two. Then 
another country, with atmosphere heavy with 
savory scents, — of doughnuts, of pumpkin pies, 
of apple turnovers, all of which had been cooked 
the day before. These dainties stay on earth, and 
are eaten; but their smell goes up into the clouds, 
and the ghosts dine upon it. The Cat licked her 
lips. Flying gives appetite. ' When morning 
comes , 5 she thought, ' Gretchen will smuggle me 
a breakfast . 5 But morning was long in coming, 
and there were many little ones to serve in that 
wonderful new land. 

" And now, another continent passed, another 
ocean came in view. Island after island rose 
and sank; but the sledge did not stop. Then a 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


217 


shore was seen, with groves of trees, fan-shaped 
and curious; with rivers whose waters bore fleets 
of strange misshapen boats, in whose masts 
hung many-colored lanterns; and cities of odd 
build, whose spires and pinnacles were noisy with 
bells. But neither here did the sledge stop. 
Once only it dipped, and deposited a package in 
a modest dwelling. ' A Missionary lives there,’ 
said the Saint. '.This is China. Don’t you 
smell the tea ? ’ 

" On and on for hundred of leagues. No 
stay, no errand. St. Nicholas looked sad, for 
all his round face. ' So many little children,’ 
he muttered, ' and none of them mine! ’ And 
then he cheered again, as, reining his deer upon 
a hut amid the frozen snows of Siberia, he left 
a rude toy for an exile’s child. 'Dear little 
thing ! ’ he said, ' she will smile in the morning 
when she wakes.’ 

" And now the air grew warm and soft. Great 
cities were below them, and groves of flowering 
trees. Some balmy fragrance wrapped the land 


218 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


A vast building, swept into sight, whose sides 
and roof and spires were traced in glittering 
lines of fire. It was a church hung with lamps. 
Odors sweet and heavy met their noses. St. 
Nicholas sneezed, and shook his head impatiently. 

' Confound that incense ! ’ he said. ' It’s the 
loveliest country in the world, only a fellow can’t 
breathe in it ! ’ And then he forgot his dis¬ 
comfort in his work. 

" Another country, and more smells, — of burn¬ 
ing twigs, pungent and spicy; of candles just 
blown out. These set the Cat to coughing; but 
St. Nicholas minded them not at all. 'I like 
them,’ he declared: 'I like everything about a 
Christmas-tree, — singed evergreen, smoking 
tallow, and all. The sniff of it is like a bouquet 
of flowers to me. And the children, — bless 
them ! — how they do enjoy it ! They don’t 
object to the smell ! ’ He ended with a 
chuckle. 

"And now the dawn began. The moon grew 
pale and wan; the stars hid themselves; dark 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


219 


things took form and shape, and were less dark; 
yellow gleams crept up the sky ; the world 
looked more alive. And, among the roofs over 
which they were now driving, the Cat spied one 
which seemed familiar. It was ! There stood 
the well-known chimney, with the thin, starved 
curl of smoke, telling of some one awake within. 
There was the little window which was Gret- 
chen’s own. With a mew of delight, she leaped 
to the roof. The Saint laughed. ' Good-by ! ’ he 
shouted, shook his reins, and was off. Whither 
the Cat knew not, nor could guess; for where 
St. ISTicholas hides himself during the year is 
one of the secrets which no man knows. 

w Down the long spout ran Puss, with an airy 
bound. There was the door; and close to it she 
stationed herself, impatient of the opening. She 
had not long to wait. In a moment the latch 
was raised, and a face peeped timidly out,— 
Gretchen’s face, — pale and swollen with crying. 
When she saw the Cat, she gave a loud scream, 
and caught her in her arms. 


220 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS.- 


"' O Katchen ! ’ she cried, hugging her close. 
'Where have you been all this time? I thought 
you were dead ! I did, I did, my Katchen! ’ 

" Pussy stared, as well she might. 

"' All day yesterday,’ went on the little one, 
' and all night long. I cried and cried, — how I 
cried, my Kitty ! It wasn’t a bit a nice Christmas, 
though the Christ-child brought me such a doll ! 
I could think of nothing but my Katchen, lost 
all day long.’ 

"Puss stood bewildered. Were her night’s 
adventures a dream? Had she ever studied 
geography, she might have guessed that chasing 
morning round the world is a sure way to lose 
your reckoning. As it was, she could only 
venture on a plaintive, inquiring 'Mew?’ Hun¬ 
ger was more engrossing than curiosity. She 
devoured breakfast, dinner, supper, all at once. 
The Stepmother had more reason than ever when 
she grumbled at being ' eaten out of house and 
home by a beast.’ But Gretchen’s tears the day 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


221 


before had so moved her Father, that he took 
courage to declare that Puss must be restored 
to her former privileges. Warm corner, dainty 
mess, and the protecting arms of her little mis¬ 
tress became hers again, and are hers to this 
day. 

" And that was St. Nicholas’s Christmas 
present to the Cat. 

"Well,” said December, rolling up the paper, 
" how do you like my story? ” 

" So much ! oh, so much ! ” the children cried. 
" It was almost the nicest of all.” 

" As for my present,” he went on, " I am not 
going to give you that just now. It shall come 
on the Christmas-tree. And mind you look 
bright, and greet the Christ-child with a smile, 
or he will be grieved, and go away sorrow¬ 
ful.” 

"I don’t believe we shall have any tree this 
year,” said Thekla, sadly. "There isn’t any 
thing to put on it. And beside ” — but her 


222 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


voice faltered. Grandfather had always helped 
to dress the tree. 

"Oh, but,” cried December, "this will never 
do. Why, you must have a tree! Never mind 
if there isn’t any thing to put on it. The Christ- 
child and I will see to that. Now I ’ll tell you, 
•—you just cut a nice fir-bough, and set it here 
against the door, and I ’ll pledge my word, as an 
honest Month, that something shall come from 
outside and fall upon it. Do you give me your 
promise that you will?” 

They promised, — half doubtful, half believing. 
And then December asked for the can, and, turn¬ 
ing it upside down, poured out the last particles 
of sand. 

"Dear! dear!” he said reflectively, "what a 
blessing that these are not lost! flow the babies 
would have cried at being forced to go to bed 
half an hour sooner on Christmas night! And 
the Anthem would have been cut short on the 
blessed morning too, and the bells been cheated 

i T 


\ 


HOW THE CAT KEPT CHRISTMAS. 


223 


of their chime. It ? s a great mercy I have got 
them safely back.” 

w Good-by! good-by! ” cried the children, fol¬ 
lowing him to the door. 

He stooped, and kissed both the round faces. 

w Good-by! ” he said. ” Remember Christmas 
Eve.” 



“ * O Katchen ! ’ she said, ‘ where have you been ? ’ 









CONCLUSION. 


WHAT WAS ON THE TREE. 

IT was with heavy hearts that Max and Thekla 
prepared on Christmas Eve to fulfil their 
promise to the kind Month. Only six days lay 
between them and the dreaded separation; for 
on the New Year the Ranger was to come, 
and it was hard to be hopeful and patient while 
such sorrow drew near. There was no laughter, 
no frolic, as they dragged in the great fir-bough, 
and set it up against the door where December 
had directed. When it was placed, they pulled 
their stools to the fire and remained for a while 
quite silent. Both were thinking of the kind 
old hands which last year had hung nuts and 
apples on the tree, and helped to light the 
Christmas candles. There were no tapers now, 
no filberts, or green and rosy fruits, — only 


WHAT WAS ON THE TREE. 


225 


the fir-bough with its damp, fresh smell, and 
themselves sitting sadly beside the hearth. 

"It is getting late,” said Thekla, at last, 



Late into the night did they all sit over the fire, while Fritz told the story of his 
seven long years of absence.” 



































226 


WHAT WAS ON THE TREE. 


throwing on a fresh fagot. I suppose the 
Christ-child has a great, great deal to do.” 

"Or perhaps he has forgotten all about ns,” 
added Max, despondingly. 

But at that moment, as if to contradict his 
words, a footstep sounded at the door. The 
latch was raised and loudly rattled. " Hallo ! ” 
cried a voice. "Where are you all ? Grand¬ 
father, children, — show a light, somebody! ” 
And then the door opened, and plump into the 
middle of the tree came a young man, head fore¬ 
most, as if he had dropped from the clouds. 

For a moment he sat there, the green boughs 
framing in his ruddy face and bright yellow 
hair. Then he picked himself up, and ex¬ 
claimed, " Well, there ’s a welcome home ! I 
didn’t expect to be made into a Christmas Angel 
so soon. — Max ! ” (wonderingly). " Is it Max ? 

Thekla ! — can it be little Thekla ? Why don’t 
you speak ? Don’t you know me ? Have you 
forgotten Fritz ? ” 

"Fritz!” cried the little ones. "Not our 
Fritz who went aw 7 ay so long ago?” 


WHAT WAS ON THE TREE. 


227 


"The very same bad shilling come again,” 
laughed the big brother, catching Thekla in his 
arms and almost squeezing her to death with a 
hug. " But why do you look so astonished ? 
Didn’t Grandfather get my letter? And where 
is the Grandfather? ” beginning to collect him¬ 
self. But then he caught the look on Max’s 
face, and saying " Ah! ” he suddenly turned 
very pale, and releasing Thekla sat down in the 
nearest chair. 

"When? ” he asked at length, raising his face 
from the hands with which he had hidden it. 

"A month ago,” said Max; but Thekla, put¬ 
ting her arm round on the new brother’s arm, 
added softly, in the very words of December, 
" Don’t be so sorry, dear Fritz. He has gone 
where he is young again.” 

Late into the night did they all sit oyer the 
fire, while Fritz told the story of his seven long 
years of absence. It seemed to the children 
very exciting; for Fritz had twice been ship¬ 
wrecked, had seen a buffalo, and only just 
escaped being killed by an Indian ! He had 


228 


WHAT WAS ON THE TREE. 


been very poor too, and suffered such hardships 
that he could not bear to write home the tidings 
of his ill-luck. But now things were better. 
Out on the Western frontier of the United 
States (here Max and Thekla smiled at each 
other and thought of " Chusey ”) he had found 
employment and kind friends, and managed 
to save from his wages enough to buy a little 
farm. He told of the oaks, the noble rivers, the 
plentiful food and rich soil, the splendid colors 
of the autumn forest. 

w And it is your home as well as mine,” con¬ 
tinued Fritz. w I came back on purpose to fetch 
you. Oh! if Grandfather had but lived to see 
the day! Max shall work on the farm with me; 
and before he knows it he will have earned one 
of his own. And you, my fairy, shall keep house 
for us both in true German fashion; and we will 
all be so happy! What do you say, Liebchen? 
Shall it be so? Will you and Max come with 
me? ” 

Ah ! wouldn’t they? Here was a Christmas 
gift indeed, — a home, a brother! Did ever mor- 


WHAT WAS ON THE TREE. 


229 


tal tree bear so fine a present before ? They 
embraced Fritz oyer and over again, Thekla 
promising between her kisses to be such a house¬ 
wife,— so orderly, so busy! Saner-kraut he 
should never be without, nor cabbage soup, nor any 
thing else that was nice. And just then some¬ 
thing droll happened which Fritz did not see, 
but the children did. The door opened gently 
a little way, and through the crack appeared the 
head of December, nodding and winking above 
the fallen fir-bougli, and beaming with smiles. 
He pointed to Fritz’s back and then to the tree, 
with an ” I told ydu so ” air, noiselessly clapped 
his hands, and withdrew, just as Fritz shivered, 
and said, ” Bless me, the wind has blown the 
door I open ! ” 

One week later a large ship weighed anchor 
in a port, and upon her deck stood our two 
children and their new brother. There was no 
one to see them go. All their few farewells hac| 
been spoken in the distant village and beside 
Grandfather’s grave. But as the heavy cables 
swung and heaved, and the vessel, released from 


230 


WHAT WAS ON THE TREE. 


bondage, moved slowly from the harbor, upon 
the slope of a snow-covered hill beneath which 
she passed, amid the nodding pines which 
crowned the top, a group of figures suddenly 
appeared. They were the twelve Months come 
to wave farewell to the children. There was 
January, disdainful as ever; sweet, rosy June; 
February, his honest nose reddened by the keen 
wind; May and April, clasping each other’s 
waists like a pair of school-girls. When they 
saw Max and Thekla on the deck, a little chorus 
of laughter, exclamation, and " Good-bys ” could 
be heard. Thekla caught the* sound of March’s 
wild "Ha ! ha !” the rich voice of September; 
April’s gleeful laugh, as she flung a handful of 
violets at the ship, and her sob when they fell, 
•as of course they did, into the water, and were 
borne out to sea. A moment, — no more. The 
children had time for only one glad smile of 
recognition, before the vision vanished and was 
gone. And no one else on the deck observed 
any thing but the sun dancing on the snow, the 
dark evergreens, and a, few tossing leaves of 


WHAT WAS ON THE TREE. 


231 


bright color which still clung to the bare boughs 
of an oak-tree. 

" Dear, clear Months, — how good they have 
been to us ! ” whispered Thekla, as the hill faded 
from view. 

And the ship spread her white wings, and 
sailed away to the New World. 



« One week later a large ship weighed anchor in a port, and upon her deck stood our 
two children,” Max and Thekla. 


Cambridge: Press of John Wilson & Son. 
















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